I've Got You Under My Skin
by Wraithfodder
Summary: The team investigates an energy source on another world, but the situation goes awry when Sheppard and Zelenka, the latter taking over for an injured McKay, find themselves trapped on that world, facing an enemy even worse than the Wraith. COMPLETE.
1. Day One

TITLE: **I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder. Feedback welcome!  
DATE: June 2005  
RATING: T ?  
STATUS: COMPLETE  
WARNINGS: Violence, language, icky gross critters and some swearing.  
CATEGORY: Drama, hurt/comfort (whumping), angst and humor. This is a gen (general) story.  
SPOILERS: Takes place in season one after "Hot Zone" but before the end of the season.

_Copyright Disclaimer_: The _Stargate Atlantis _characters, as presented on the series, belong to MGM, Sci Fi, and other registered copyright holders. No copyright infringement is meant or intended by the writing and posting of this material. I'm just borrowing the characters and the universe for a piece of non-profit 'fan fiction' and will return in one piece (well, usually). However, all original characters and story material are copyright to author. Please do not repost this fiction, in whole or in part, anywhere, without expression written permission of the author. 

**SUMMARY: The team investigates an energy source on another world, but the situation goes terribly awry when Sheppard and Zelenka, the latter taking over for an injured McKay, find themselves trapped on that world, facing an enemy potentially even worse than the Wraith.**. 

_Author's Notes: This story takes place predominantly over a five day period, so I'll be loading the story in that format, and the final stage of the story takes place over a longer period. It's a long story, but it IS complete. :) Special thanks to B7kerravon for betaing assistance! _

* * *

**I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN**

**DAY ONE **

**PART 1**

"I should be going!" McKay's voice filled the air with outright indignation. 

"Uh huh," muttered Sheppard although not quietly enough. 

"And what is that supposed to mean?" McKay's words dripped in sarcasm, just begging for a good fight. 

Weir watched the two men across from her at the conference table argue for what had to be the tenth time since she'd called the mission briefing to order. Ford just patiently bided his time, sitting next to his commander, while Teyla seemed to alternate between amusement and exasperation at the escalating conflict. 

"The world is a _rainforest_, Rodney." 

"So?" 

"You've got a cast on your leg." 

"It's a walking cast," reminded McKay shortly. "That means I can walk on it." 

"Which means you can't put a boot on it and are therefore subject to..." Sheppard waved his hand idly. "Oh, I don't know, bugs crawling into your cast, chewing into you, making themselves at home inside your ankle." 

"Oh please." McKay crossed his arms defiantly against his chest and smirked. "I can put one of those bag things over the cast. Keeps out the bugs, the rain, everything." 

"And when we're being pursued by some large animal intent on eating us for lunch, just how fast are you going to be able to run?" Sheppard crossed his arms in a similar manner, although he exuded a lot more confidence in his stance than McKay was presenting showing. 

"Well, I, uh—" 

"Rodney, you're not going," spoke up Beckett from his position next to Weir "And that's my order, as the Chief Medical Officer. For pity's sake, you're not running off to some water-logged world after I put your leg back together after you—" 

"Carson," warned McKay. 

"After you tripped down the stairs," finished Beckett firmly. 

"They do say most accidents happen in the home," Sheppard shrugged. 

"Maybe that's because some _idiot_ left a pen on the floor," complained McKay loudly. "And may I remind you that the mission is going to the planet because of the energy reading. You're not a scientist, major." 

"And I count my blessings every day." Sheppard looked insufferably pleased with that statement. 

McKay turned his glare toward Weir. "Elizabeth, that energy reading could be a ZedPM!" 

"Yeah, they look sorta like lava lamps," Sheppard said with a grin. "The orange ones, right?" 

"Elizabeth!" repeated McKay, incensed at the major's mocking comment. 

"Rodney, Dr. Beckett is right. You can't go traipsing off to another world in a cast." Weir then shot a level gaze at the air force officer sitting across from her. "And major, stop tormenting Rodney. We have to live with him while you're gone." 

"Yes, ma'am," said Sheppard contritely, but it was obvious he didn't mean it. 

"Fine, fine," said McKay in a huff. "So go off, have fun. You need a scientist on this mission." He settled a hostile stare directly on Sheppard, who ignored it. 

"Oh, we've got one." 

"Excuse me?" McKay appeared both greatly annoyed and intrigued. "Who?" 

A sharp rap at the door drew everyone's attention. A figure entered the room and stopped. 

"Oh, you have got to be joking!" exclaimed McKay. 

"Major, did I come at the wrong time?" Dr. Zelenka pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

**PART 2 **

All scientists should come with labels on how to treat them, Sheppard thought dryly. First, despite the fact that scientists are the most curious of creatures, they like to stay on their home ground. They get anxious and upset if they're pulled out of the safety of their technology-laden dens and thrust into anything that has one single blade of grass or dirt. 

This world had more than grass. It was a definite rainforest, full of tall trees whose canopies reached into the sky at least forty feet above their heads. Instead of the usual coniferous trees they'd encountered on far too many worlds, they were greeted with huge fronds with sharp serrated edges. Despite the heat, everyone had worn jackets, just to prevent any damage from the leaves. Sheppard had already managed to sustain a few scratches on his hands and wrists from those serrated leaves, despite his caution. 

Zelenka had seemed both elated and mortified to go out on the mission, although Sheppard felt that part of his acceptance to take McKay's place had been due to spite. McKay had raised such a ruckus about Zelenka going, that he'd managed to insult his colleague – several times in fact. Sheppard felt that the Czech would have stepped through the gate to an ice planet just to get his dig in at McKay. 

But once on the planet, Zelenka had relaxed and seemed to be enjoying himself. 

Sheppard whacked at another huge green frond with the machete and it fell to his feet with easy abandon, then smacked at a tiny gnat thing buzzing around one of his scratches. "Hey, look, I don't see a no vacancy sign," he remarked happily as he stepped forward into a clearing. 

Teyla, Ford and Zelenka all came up beside him and stopped. "These look like ruins," said Zelenka. 

Sheppard grinned. "Well, no sign of Wraith so that' a big plus in my book." The life signs detector had been mercifully devoid of any lurking menaces. Apparently the rainforest didn't see much action in the daylight hours. 

Zelenka took out a tissue from a pocket in his tactical vest and cleaned some water droplets off his glasses, then repositioned them on his face as he studied the almost bunker-like ruins nearly hidden by an abundance of vines and other thick overgrowth. 

Sheppard wasn't accustomed to this kind of behavior. If McKay had been there, he'd have been either charging in or complaining about snakes or bugs the entire way. Zelenka had not complained at all, even when Sheppard had accidentally let a large frond snap back and it hit the scientist squarely in the face. The Czech had merely taken it in stride, although after that he'd increased the distance between himself and Sheppard. 

He couldn't help himself, but Sheppard felt protective toward the scientist. They'd lost several scientists already, five to the damned nanovirus, and two, regrettably, due to a mixture of a bad decision and a 10,000-year-old Wraith. He'd made sure his team treated Zelenka like a precious gem, always surrounded so that if any danger presented itself, they'd be able to protect him. 

Conversation had been light, not the spirited and sometimes snarky banter that always accompanied McKay. It seemed odd, and in some respect, almost like a vacation, not that Sheppard would ever say that aloud. While McKay could annoy him to the point that he wanted to throttle the man at times, he'd become a friend. Sheppard hadn't thought that possible but the two men, despite their differences, had found some kind of common bond, besides their presence on Atlantis. Both were seeking something they couldn't find on Earth. Whether they'd find that something in the Pegasus galaxy was debatable, but Sheppard was enjoying the friendship he'd established with the acerbic Canadian. 

Zelenka seemed a polar opposite to McKay. Polite, actually open to another opinion. Sheppard had nearly done a double-take when Zelenka had moved in to look at the life signs detector the major held in his hands and had said 'excuse me." Oh, he'd seen Zelenka and McKay argue, sometimes quite heatedly, but perhaps the Czech was just on his best behavior, off-world, and surrounded by non-scientists who weren't competing for some prize. Or maybe just being out of range of Rodney McKay gave the man a little breathing room. 

"The energy source is definitely coming from that structure." Zelenka eyed the building curiously. It was by no means primitive; it had been constructed with concrete or some other man-made (or alien made) material. It was shaped like a dome if the clinging vines covering it were any indication, with one front entrance that led into darkness. 

Sheppard cast a wary glance at the building. It was obviously long abandoned, but there was always the chance that the local wildlife had taken up residence within its walls, or that there might be booby-traps secreted inside. "Dr. Zelenka, you and Teyla will stay out here while Lieutenant Ford and I give the place a look-see." 

Teyla nodded, hands firmly on the P-90 in her grasp. Zelenka stood by her, waiting patiently. 

What a difference, thought Sheppard. How long did it take for a broken leg to heal? 

The entryway to the structure showed no danger of collapse. Whoever had constructed the building hadn't skimped on materials. The walls of the dome had to be at least several feet thick and in an odd sort of way, the whole design reminded Sheppard of a nuclear plant dome, only a miniaturized version. The life signs detector didn't show any bizarre energy readings, so he was relatively confident that when they left, they wouldn't be Day-Glo green. Moss and other assorted plant life had slowly crept into the dome over the centuries. He was positive that the dome was that old due to a design they had uncovered beneath one segment of vine. It was very similar to architectural motifs they'd seen on Atlantis. 

It was ancient, and in more way than one. 

"Sir, over here," called out Ford. Sheppard joined the younger man at the far wall. "Got an indentation here." Ford pointed out the large area, covered with a layer of thin vines and fuzzy moss. "Might be a door." 

"Or a decorative archway." They'd encountered enough of those on other worlds. Maddening things. Looked like a door but just carved into the wall for no other reason than pure aethestics. 

Sheppard ran his hand along the indentation, then jumped back, his P-90 raised in alarm and his senses on high alert, as the moss began to slither across the wall. 

**PART 3 **

"Will you please hold still?" 

"I am," groused McKay while Beckett attempted to make the man lie still. 

"If you were, I wouldn't be asking you, now would I?" Beckett said with an acid tone. "If you don't comply, I'll just get Nurse Hennings and Dr. Braeden to assist." 

McKay paled slightly, then complied. Threats often did work with Rodney McKay. He made a lot of noise but for some reason, being confined in the infirmary seemed to draw some of the arrogance out of the man, especially if threatened with being held down in order to get a simple exam of a casted leg. 

Beckett had to ignore the tap-tap-tap of McKay's nervous fingers. "Hmm," he murmured. 

"What?" McKay sat up, staring at Beckett, then his leg. 

"It's fine," announced Beckett. 

"See, I told you." McKay's confidence was back tenfold. "I could have gone on that mission." 

"No, you couldn't have and I would have had security lock you up if you'd tried," warned Beckett. He then added, "Rodney, green doesn't suit you." 

"What?" 

"It's obvious," said Beckett. "You're jealous. You think that this will be the mission where they find a ZPM and you won't be there." 

"I don't have to be there if a ZedPM is discovered," McKay argued. "I don't care who brings one back as long as they do." 

"So this isn't about the glory?" asked Beckett casually. 

McKay looked absolutely affronted by the mere suggestion. "I thought you knew me better than that, Carson." 

Beckett patted McKay on the cast, more of a reflex gesture than anything else. "Aye, I do." He locked eyes with Rodney. "Your friends are out there, without you and in fact, they've replaced you." 

"I'm hardly replaceable," McKay said with a huff, although the guarded expression in his eyes said otherwise. "Zelenka is a good scientist but he has no practical field experience. He's never been--" 

"We've all been, Rodney," admonished Beckett lightly. "God forbid, for better or worse, we're all here in the Pegasus galaxy, with absolutely no idea if we'll ever see Earth again. You can't be a coward and step through the gate knowing that, well, that could be it." 

"I never said that," replied McKay defensively. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, as if uncertain what to do. 

"Don't worry, they'll come back safely," assured Beckett. 

"I'm not worried." McKay got off the bed, hobbling toward the door and ultimately, freedom. 

"And if they didn't care so much about you, they would have dragged you along for your knowledge, cast or not," added Beckett. 

He watched as McKay stopped in his tracks, his head cocked ever so slightly as he digested those words. He said nothing, then continued in his journey. 

**PART 4 **

"Like a kid in a candy store," Ford had humorously remarked, to which Sheppard had added, "Yeah, but if you break it, you buy it, so Dr. Zelenka, don't touch anything, okay?" 

Zelenka had nodded vigorously, poking around the laboratory but remarkably, not touching anything in the process. He was actually doing better than Sheppard, who ignored his own warning and ran a finger over a dust-covered counter, then sneezed at the dirt he'd stirred up. 

Teyla smiled as she and Ford provided the security for this mission. Ford stood just outside the main door, the same one that had miraculously opened when the major had run his hand across some hidden receptor. Virtually every iota of moss had been cleanly scraped off the metallic surface as the door had opened. 

There was no doubt in anyone's mind, not even hers, that this structure had been created by the Ancestors, or the Ancients as Sheppard's people liked to call them. 

Zelenka carefully brushed some dust off an instrument panel of some sort, then went into an excited stream of alien sounding words. He was from the Czech Republic, Sheppard had explained. Just one of the many countries on Earth. It had once been called Czechoslovakia but then the country split apart peacefully and new names sprung up to name the pieces. 

Teyla still had a difficult time fathoming the war and violence on the major's world. While she had always known violence - via the Wraith - but the constant struggle over religion and material things, especially something called oil - 'black gold', Sheppard had said with a sour look - still astounded her. 

Sheppard and Zelenka conversed, most likely a translation as the major did not speak the scientist's language and they seemed to agree upon something. Sheppard smiled freely and let Zelenka go back to his examination of the panel as he stood by. 

It was a contrast to how the major and Dr. McKay interacted. Had Dr. McKay been there, Sheppard would have stood more off to the side, while McKay would have taken over, as he was the base's expert on Ancient devices. He would have not have shown the same delight as Dr. Zelenka had just exhibited but perhaps that was only because this was Zelenka's first true discovery off-world. She did not know if the enjoyment of discovery had vanished from McKay, or been deeply buried by all the horrors he had seen since traveling through the gate. 

Sheppard now had the life signs detector, which they had also discovered was excellent for determining energy of all sorts, on the counter near the panel. Sheppard was the only one on the team right now could make it work, due to his ATA gene. Teyla decided to move closer to investigate. 

"Have you found a ZPM?" 

Sheppard shook his head. "Don't think so, but there's an energy source here." He rapped his knuckles soundly on the wall above the panel. "It's just a matter of figuring out how to get at it." 

"I do not believe C4 is the answer." Zelenka cast a nervous glance over his shoulder at Ford, who looked back at him with a "What? Who me?" expression. Ford's fondness for explosives was legendary on Atlantis. 

"Don't think we'll be going that route this time, doc," Sheppard assured him. "What we need to do is figure out what all this does. Might open up the wall." 

"I agree," concurred Zelenka. "I know that Rodney--" 

"Uh uh," said Sheppard quickly. "McKay isn't stepping one toe on this world." 

Teyla arched an eyebrow at this sudden change on Sheppard's part. She had never known him to not want McKay on a mission. The major seemed to catch her doubting expression. "If I was 100 positive there was nothing nasty here, I'll tell McKay to get in a raincoat and hike it on over here, but I can't be sure, so I'm not risking his life for some words. Besides," he added with a mock serious expression, "Beckett would kill me if I did that. I do value my hide, which I know Carson would stick full of syringes to punish me." 

"I see," Teyla said with a mirthful smile. 

The time passed quickly as Zelenka and Sheppard worked on the panel but to no avail. Even Sheppard's touch wasn't activating anything. After a while, Sheppard told Zelenka to pack it up. They were going back to Atlantis, where they could regroup and bring back additional equipment, and perhaps more manpower, to unravel this mystery. 

The journey back to the Stargate was much less arduous than the original trek, in which they'd had to cut a swath through the dense foliage. They'd spent the bulk of that time discussing the strange energy source as well as why the Ancients would establish an outpost in such a remote spot. They came up with nothing but more questions and no answers. 

It was literally seconds after they'd established contact with Atlantis that McKay's voice pierced the quiet cacophony of the forest creatures. 

_"Well? Find a ZedPM?"_

Sheppard arched an eyebrow at the team and grinned. "Yes, and no." 

_"What? You found one and lost it?"_ said McKay acerbically. 

"No on both counts," said Sheppard. "However, we did find an energy source in the abandoned Ancient outpost but it's—" 

_"Ancient?" _blurted McKay. _"Elizabeth!"_

_"No."_ Weir sounded tired. No doubt she had been correct that McKay would plague the lives of those back on Atlantis while his teammates went off-world without him, especially if it dealt with discovering technology. Teyla also knew that Weir would return that favor in kind to Major Sheppard once he returned, as he'd done nothing but contribute to the situation. 

"It's buried behind a wall," Sheppard finished. "And Ford took some home movies for you." 

_"How thoughtful of you," _said McKay acerbically 

"Indeed it was," said Sheppard, ignoring the biting comeback. "We're coming home." He gestured his thumb over his back at the gate, indicating that both Ford and Teyla should proceed. "See you on the other side." 

Teyla went through the vortex, but not before noticing that Dr. Zelenka had lagged behind briefly, searching his vest with both hands. As soon as she arrived back at Atlantis, she knew without a doubt that the mission debriefing would be … interesting. McKay was sitting up in the control area, staring down at her and Ford very much in the same intense manner as the predatory Giffet hawk back on Athos would perch far above in the tree branches, just biding its time until its prey came out of it lair. Seconds later, that prey would be dead, mangled in the powerful talons of the bird. 

"Lieutenant, where are the major and Dr. Zelenka?" Weir stepped forward to the railing. 

Teyla looked behind her at the blue vortex, then wondered what the loud burst of static was that echoed suddenly in her earpiece.

* * *

John Sheppard stopped in his tracks, his back to the gate's opening. That stance afforded him an excellent view of the small clearing that surrounded the gate and its DHD. Quite handy in case a predator or enemy decided to make an impromptu visit. He kept his finger on the P-90's trigger. 

"Uh, Dr. Zelenka?" he asked. 

The scientist was busy conducting a search of the myriad of pockets in his tactical vest. 

"Lose something?" 

Zelenka muttered something in Czech, a bad habit he had when he was preoccupied with work, but then his face brightened as his fingers apparently curled around that precious item, deep within a side pocket. "Found it," he said. 

Sheppard didn't care what 'it' was. "If you lose something, we'll find it on the return trip, okay? Right now, it's back to base for a debrief and a quick shower." Sheppard scratched at an itch on the back of his neck. Maybe the shower should come first. 

As Zelenka proceeded toward the gate, Sheppard kept a wary eye on the dense plant life beyond, and then took a step backwards. A flare of agony consumed his entire body as his vision exploded in a burst of brilliant red, just seconds before blackness mercifully claimed his world. 

**PART 5 **

He'd lost it. He _knew_ it. He couldn't believe that these military tactical vests had so many pockets, and that they could be so easily filled. Zelenka patted down another, trying in vain to locate the small object. Just a few more pockets to search, as he felt Major Sheppard's gaze scrutinizing his actions. 

All in all, Zelenka thought, it had been an excellent first off-world mission, with the exception of that huge leaf that had struck him in the face. He'd been very tempted to say a few choice words but then the major had looked so guilty at his mistake that Zelenka didn't have the heart to voice his complaint. 

Eye drops. He'd muttered the word in his native language, earning him a puzzled look from the major, but he'd beamed happily when he found them at the bottom of one pocket. He was a few days past the eye infection he'd gotten from Simpson, who in turn had caught it from Sergeant Carstairs (although the Sergeant claimed otherwise), who presumably got it or gave it to Kavanagh, and so on and so forth. Beckett had distributed medicated drops to anyone with the slightest sign of red eyes to avoid a plague of conjunctivitis sweeping through the city. Zelenka had actually thought his red eyes had been the result of just too much time spent on the computer in a dry environment, but Beckett had read him the riot act and told him to take the eye drops for the prescribed period of time, no matter how good his eyes began to look or feel. He was done with the drops, but didn't want to risk a relapse. 

If there'd been any medical reason not to go on the mission, Dr. Beckett surely would have said something. Not that anyone could get a word in edgewise, what with all of Rodney's complaining! And he was sure he'd get an earful once he returned to Atlantis. But well, too bad, he was here, and Rodney was stuck with his leg in a cast, which if he didn't watch out, would get stuck in his mouth! 

Sheppard mentioned something about heading back to base, for a debriefing and a shower. He could certainly agree about the latter. His clothes were sticking to him in a most uncomfortable fashion. He wasn't sure how Rodney tolerated this less than desirable part of any mission, but apparently he did, and most likely it was due to the incredible discoveries he was able to make. It was quite thrilling to actually find the item, and not just wait until it was deposited on a desk and he was being told to 'analyze this.' 

Zelenka headed back up the slight incline of stones that composed the base around the immense Stargate. 

A second later, Zelenka found himself reeling from a blinding burst of red light, and his ears were assaulted by the sound of a scream and a horrendous burst of static in his earpiece. He staggered back, losing his balance on the stones and he fell over. He managed to catch himself before he could land on his back and instead ended up on his rear. 

"Major Sheppard!" he called out, knocking off his glasses and rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to rid himself of the intense colors that danced across his retinas. 

Zelenka blinked, then opened his eyes fully. "Oh my god," he murmured, staring upwards. A transparent shield of shimmering red light blocked the path to the Stargate. The vortex looked lavender behind the transparent screen. 

"Major?" he asked again. Voices began to assault his ears – Weir and McKay– but they vanished from his mind when he reached out to steady himself, and his hand struck the still body of Major Sheppard. He stared in horror at the crumpled form beside him. Zelenka quickly pulled Sheppard onto his back, then gasped in horror at what he had done. What if the major had a neck injury? He could have killed him! Or worse, paralyzed him for life. 

The major was pale, but he was breathing. 

"Atlantis!" Zelenka shouted into his radio. "We ran into a force field! The major's been hurt. We need—" 

McKay's voice cut him off. _"Zelenka, in English, please!"_

Zelenka caught himself. He'd been so unnerved he'd reverted to his native tongue. "Atlantis," he repeated, this time a bit less panicked. "We have run into a force field of some kind. It repelled the major. He may be hurt. He is unconscious." 

As he heard Weir order Dr. Beckett to the control room, and McKay rapidly shoot off question after question about the force field, he noticed Sheppard's eyes slowly opening. The voices were drawing his attention from what was most important. He quickly told them 'hold,' and removed his earpiece and stuck it in a vest pocket. They could wait. 

"Major Sheppard, can you hear me?" Zelenka hovered over the man, who was staring at the sky, a dazed expression glazing his eyes. 

After an extremely long minute, Sheppard dragged an arm noisily through the dense foliage he was lying on, then plastered a hand across his head. "What the hell happened?" 

"A force field is what happened." Zelenka pointed toward the gate. Sheppard managed to lift up his head and stare. A deep frown creased the man's forehead before he let his head drop back to the ground. 

"Teyla? Ford?" Sheppard put both hands to his temples, squeezing. "Ah, my head," he groaned miserably. "Back feels like it's been barbecued." 

"The lieutenant and Teyla made it back to Atlantis," said Zelenka, feeling just a tiny bit better that Sheppard was capable of movement and coherent speech. "I do not know why it sprung up when it did." Sheppard grimaced as he slowly moved his legs. "Perhaps you should not move. You may have broken something when you were flung back." 

"No, uh, nothing broken," Sheppard said, rolling over to his side with an audible groan. "Now I know why my mother said never to stick my tongue in the light socket." 

Zelenka drew back his head in confusion. "You did _that_?" 

"No, but she told me not to." Sheppard sat up, hissing painfully as he rubbed at his sore back. "I was just a little kid, Zelenka, and uh, no, I didn't do that." Sheppard frowned for a moment. "Nah, couldn't have. Would have electrocuted myself." 

"I see." 

"Can you get rid of that thing?" Sheppard made an attempt to stand, but the pained look on his face made him quickly reconsider that action. Instead, he tapped at his earpiece. "Atlantis? … Atlantis?" 

"Your radio may have been damaged in the … contact," explained Zelenka. He pulled his earpiece out of his vest. Even Sheppard could hear the voices frantically trying to re-establish contact. 

"Weir's gonna be pissed at you for doing that," he said with a weak smile. 

"I was a bit pre-occupied," admitted Zelenka, putting back on his glasses. 

Sheppard seemed to realize precisely what that meant. "Thanks." 

"Are you all right?" Zelenka noticed that Sheppard looked paler than a moment before. 

"Maybe not so…" Sheppard said too quietly. 

"I think you should lie down." Zelenka didn't wait for the major to answer and instead helped ease him back down to the ground. The pallor didn't get any worse, and the lines of pain on his face eased just a fraction. 

Zelenka repositioned the earpiece. "—lenka, what the hell is going on!" insisted Rodney. _"Something's happened to them. We have to send somebody back through." _

"Please stop shouting," Zelenka insisted brusquely. 

_"Zelenka, what is—" _McKay's voice was cut off as Weir took over. _"Dr. Zelenka, what is going on? You said something about a force field? Is Major Sheppard all right?"_

"He is doing better," said Zelenka, and he felt he said that with all honesty. "I believe he was just badly stunned by the effects of the field, which he unfortunately walked into." 

Zelenka continued to detail the events of the past few minutes, knowing that his voice was being broadcast throughout the entire control area. He still felt shaky at having his entire world turned upside down, and with the major lying nearby, looking and sounding terrible. He steadied himself by handling the situation just as he would any dangerous scientific experiment: maintaining a rational outlook, staying calm, and above all, not panicking. He came closer to achieving that last emotional state when Sheppard, against Zelenka's advice, crawled over to the DHD, which was a few feet away, and rested his shoulder against its pedestal. The effort cost the man dearly as he was sweating quite a bit by the time he stopped moving. 

Beckett took over the radio from McKay. Grilling Zelenka about Sheppard's condition, until the major motioned for Zelenka to just hand over the earpiece so the scientist could stop being a go-between. "How do I know?" Sheppard said to a question. "Pulse is fine. It's there. Head hurts. Feel like I got singed all over but Zelenka said that's from the field's charge." Sheppard just shut his eyes. Zelenka imagined that he was listening to Beckett. "Yeah, yeah, no problem. Just put McKay back on so he and Zelenka can fix the damn gate." He yanked off the earpiece, then tossed it back to Zelenka, who caught it. 

"In a moment, Rodney," said Zelenka quietly. He tapped the earpiece, putting it on hold, then he knelt down next to Sheppard. The man looked miserable. "Major, are you all right?" 

Sheppard cracked open his eyes and glanced over, the pain etching fine lines around the corners of his eyes. "I'll be fine." He shifted position, but at least he remained upright. "Wraith have done a lot worse." 

Zelenka just frowned in concern, but then decided, perhaps that was true. The major had been pretty battered after that disastrous trip out to the Lagrange array. If he could withstand being thrown about by a Wraith, then he should be able to handle a force field. He hoped. 

Sheppard eased out a sore muscle in his shoulder. "Between you and Rodney, we'll be home in no time flat." 

**PART 6 **

Elizabeth sat at the control console, looking down over the reddish glaze that covered much of the gateroom's floor. It seemed to match the mood of some of the people whom she had the misfortune to have to monitor. Over the past hour, McKay had been instructing Zelenka on how to fix the DHD to remove the bizarre force field. The patience of some people involved was wearing thinner than her uncle's bald spot. 

"Come on, Zelenka. There's got to be something in the DHD that's erecting that force field," sniped McKay. 

_"Oh, please, then come through the gate and point it out to me!" _shot back Zelenka's angry voice. 

"He's not cut out for field work," McKay muttered aside to Weir. 

_"I heard that," _came Zelenka's irate response. 

_"Will you two stop arguing?"_ interjected Sheppard. _"Geez, I'm the one who ran into an electrified brick wall."_

"How are you feeling, major?" asked Beckett. 

The sound of a heavy sigh shot over the radio. _"The same as when you asked five minutes ago, and an hour ago, Carson. I'm fine."_

"Well, I'd like to be the judge of that," replied Beckett. 

"Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to get poked and prodded on Atlantis than to sit here on soggy, er, plants," confessed Sheppard. 

"I've got witnesses to those words, son," Beckett grinned. 

_"Yeah, and I'm sure you're recording this for posterity, too," _replied Sheppard. 

McKay focused on the schematics on the computer screen in front of him. "Now just cross the wire – B11 – to the white crystal," he continued sharply. 

Weir listened to the back and forth banter between the two scientists. They often argued, quite vociferously, but there was a bit more tension now, even then when the two hurricanes had been bearing down in the city in a potential cataclysm they'd never before witnessed. "Rodney," she said lightly, but warningly, under her breath. He shot a scowl her way, but relented. He drew a deep breath. "And that should do it," he added, in a more agreeable tone. 

_"About time," _Sheppard's thankful voice rang out. 

"I agree," said Weir. 

_"Crossing… now,"_ said Zelenka. 

_"Yes!" _shouted Sheppard gleefully. _"That damn shield's gone."_

"Ha!" McKay grinned victoriously at Weir in that 'I-told-you-so' expression to which she was much accustomed. She smiled back happily and nodded. 

"We'll be waiting for you, major, Dr. Zelenka," she said. 

_"Coming through in a sec," _came Sheppard's voice. _"Can't wait to—"_

A clamorous burst of static charged over the radio. Elizabeth tore the earpiece from her head as she listened to the sound rapidly dissipate. She shot a shocked look at McKay. "Major? Dr. Zelenka?" she called back. From the corner of her eye, she saw horrifying comprehension dawn on McKay's suddenly pale face. He was about to speak when she motioned him to be quiet. There was nothing they could do on their end but wait. "Major?" she tried again. 

A voice pierced the silence. It was strong, but with an undeniable undercurrent of fear. _"The field erected again,"_ said Zelenka darkly. _"The major was thrown back. He is unconscious, but he is alive."_

Weir exchanged a worried glance with Beckett. Both knew that receiving that kind of jolt twice, and in such close succession, could not be good for Sheppard. 

"It should have worked." McKay sounded lost as he sat down and stared at the schematics that had failed him. 

Weir didn't know what to say, that's because McKay usually did come up with the eleventh hour fixes that had saved all their collective backsides time and again. She offered a small and encouraging smile, but also knew the internal guilt was going to chew on him now until the two men walked back through that gate. 

A minute later, a rumbling noise came over the radio, accompanied by voices they couldn't make out. _"No, I don't think," _came Zelenka's stern voice, followed more static. Then dead silence. 

"Major?" Both Weir's and McKay's concerned voices collided. 

"_Gimme that,"_ sounded an irate voice in the distance. Weir relaxed her grip on the console. Sheppard was awake. _"Dammit, McKay, when I get back to Atlantis, I'm gonna break your other leg."_

"What?" squeaked McKay in horror. 

"Major," said Weir in a sotto warning. 

"_Ow, shit," _moaned Sheppard, and then Zelenka's voice cut in. _"You must understand, the major is a bit … upset. The force field appears to leave a residual effect of … pain."_

"_No, I'll break his fingers," _continued Sheppard in a harsh tone. _"Cross the B11 wire, my—"_

_"AND,"_ said Zelenka rather loudly, drowning out the rest of Sheppard's threat._ "It is getting dark."_

"You're proposing to stay there the night?" said Weir. 

_"No," _said Sheppard sarcastically, his voice a bit stronger. _"I'll just wait till I get back on my feet and ram my head into the force field again. I'm sure it'll crack eventually."_

McKay looked mortified at the insane suggestion, but Weir just knew that Sheppard had assessed what little options he had and hated all of them. And she also knew it had been a stupid thing to say on her part. 

_"I think we should try again," _said Zelenka. 

"WHAT?" everybody's voice chorused together. 

_"Not from our end, major."_ Zelenka sounded a little worried. Weir could only imagine the angry look the major had to be directing at the smaller Czech scientist. _"We should see if this force field is only trapping us here. I am not suggesting that you send anyone through. No, of course not, but a MALP to establish communications would be good."_

_"We'll hole up back at the lab," _added Sheppard. _"Gee, it'll be just like a Motel 6."_

_"I would suggest sending something through that is of no value, first, to determine the viability of the experiment," _suggested Zelenka. 

_"Crap, I don't want Kavanagh stuck here with us," _groused Sheppard. 

"Major," Weir hissed in warning. 

"_Did I say that out loud?" _muttered Sheppard too innocently. _"Must be brain damage from being fried too many times."_

"Of course." Weir arched an eyebrow at the Stargate. There was no love lost between Sheppard and the arrogant scientist. Sheppard had somewhat understood Kavanagh's line of thought for his scientific reasoning during the entire 38-minute-Wraith-bug-stuck-in-the-Stargate incident, but he'd been much less than understanding when Elizabeth had accidentally let slip that Kavanagh had been ticked off – and had wasted precious minutes – with being more concerned about how his people viewed him than with saving lives. Sheppard never made mention of it again, at Elizabeth's promise, but every once in a while she'd see him cast a rather odd glance at the tall scientist. Maybe he was deciding if he was going to take the complaining scientist off on a mission and abandon him on a planet. 

Once Sheppard was able to get to his feet, they shut the gate down and reopened it from Atlantis' side. Sheppard had griped about Atlantis dumping its garbage on other worlds when someone had simply tossed through a crumpled piece of paper, which unfortunately, didn't reach far enough to hit where the force field's radius had shimmered. 

A PowerBar was the next item, sailing high up in the air. Sheppard caught it expertly. He ripped it opened, giving half to Zelenka while he devoured the rest. So they at least knew the force field only prevented outgoing traffic, but there no way they'd risk stranding anyone else. 

Sheppard ran off a list of items for Atlantis to send through – mostly survival supplies such as sleeping bags, food, etc. – as he was sure they were going to be there at least a day, if not more. As the sun set further and further into the distance, the forest was coming alive with the sounds of many unfamiliar and noisy creatures. Sheppard had no plans for either him or Zelenka to be caught by something large and hungry. 

Weir opted to have the mini-MALP sent through. Rodney still ground his teeth at that term, assigned by Sheppard rather sarcastically during the device's unveiling on one mission. It was a simple, small, bare-bones version of the MALP, with audio and video capabilities. Not incredibly weatherproof, which is why they sent it through with a ziplock baggie. It would still function, but could short out from the excessive humidity. 

That tiny MALP would enable them to send back signals from the Ancient compound they'd found, and not risk the precious few real MALPs that remained. Atlantis would re-establish contact first thing in the morning. The sign-off was tense. Weir knew that they could do nothing more, that Zelenka would be safe with Sheppard standing at guard, but Rodney was visibly worried for both his friends, and no doubt feeling guilty that if hadn't broken his leg, it would be him on that planet with Sheppard, and he'd have that problem fixed in no time flat.

* * *

"Get some sleep, Dr. Zelenka." 

"No, no, I should study the schematics," he insisted. "I have them along with me on the laptop." 

"And the laptop is going to be there in the morning when we've got actual light to work by at the gate," said Sheppard. Did all scientists insist on bringing laptops to alien worlds, even if they couldn't plug them in? Maybe they were the scientist version of a security blanket. "Besides, I still have a slight headache from that invisible fence somebody put up, so I don't think I'll get much sleep anyway." 

"Are you all right?" Zelenka looked concerned, and Sheppard thought, a bit afraid. First time out on a mission he gets stuck on a planet with no way to get home, and his protector was a bit wobbly on his feet from nearly getting electrocuted. 

"I'll make sure that if I pass out, I'll do it within earshot," grinned Sheppard. 

Zelenka's eyes widened dramatically, to the point that Sheppard thought they might dwarf the man's glasses. 

"I'm not going to pass out," Sheppard quickly reassured the man. He had to remind himself that Zelenka didn't quite have McKay's sardonic sense of humor. Weir might get ticked off if he brought Zelenka back as a total basketcase. 

Zelenka just nodded and unfurled his sleeping bag. They seemed unnecessary in the oppressive heat and dampness, yet sleeping on the hard floor or any other surface wasn't very desirable. As Zelenka settled in on the soft mattress, Sheppard grabbed a spot on the floor near the door, the Life Signs Detector in hand. He turned off the small lantern they'd had shipped through, letting the detector provide the illumination. He looked at the dim moonlight streaming in through the thick glass-blocked windows on the ceiling above. At any other time, he might have called it mood lighting, as the blue tones softened the harshness of the old facility. Sheppard was sure the forest was alive with all sorts of wildlife, but all he was concerned with were the big ones, with teeth, that were looking for a nice midnight snack. He'd secured the door, but one could never be too careful. 

Sheppard relaxed against the hard wall, scratching idly at an itch on his arm.

* * *

_And that's it for the first day of Sheppard and Zelenka's not-so-excellent adventure. If you think they've got problems, you're right! **To Klenotka** - thanks for the tip. Got that glaring error fixed! _


	2. DAY TWO

TITLE: **I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder. Feedback welcome!  
WARNINGS: Violence, language, icky gross critters and some swearing.  
See DAY ONE for disclaimers, copyright and other notes.

* * *

**DAY TWO  
**

**PART 7 **

Zelenka awoke with a start, as well as with a cramp building up in one leg. He swung himself out of bed, then caught himself before nearly fell off the counter where, just the night before, he'd laid out the sleeping bag. Not Atlantis, but PX8 3H6, a rainforest world where he was presently stranded with Major Sheppard.

"Major?" he called out.

Across the room, a sleeping bag lay near the open door. Now he knew why everything had that odd damp smell, heavy with the scent of moist earth. There was not a single sign of Sheppard. Zelenka called out again, but no answer was forthcoming in the room or the outer dome room. Zelenka looked up, studying the thick glass panels in the ceiling above. He hadn't given them much notice during the night but now he noticed intricate designs etched into the clear substance. He wondered if it was truly glass, or something else of Ancient construct.

Zelenka pulled on his boots. He grabbed his .9mm and crept over to the door. He had no idea what just how well he would do with the gun if he encountered… a foe. The domed area was darker than the room, so he brought out his penlight, which provided tenuous illumination, at best, to the walls beyond. The room was also empty, as it had been the day before, but now, in looking down, he saw that they were not alone. Large pawprints of some cat-like creature sunk into the layer of dirt and leaves. The paws had to be as big as both his fists combined. They padded around the doorframe, but then lead back outside.

Zelenka followed the tracks warily, wondering where Sheppard had gotten off to, or if he'd run into the owner of the pawprints. No, he did not want to think about that. Besides, the major surely would have fired off his gun if that had been the case, and Zelenka was not a heavy sleeper. He would have heard something. He paused a moment as a strange crunching noise could be heard just outside the entranceway. He debated his strategy: go back to the sanctuary of the interior room, or investigate? Curiosity won out.

Gun outstretched in one hand, he crept around the corner into the stark morning light.

"Morning, doc."

Zelenka nearly jumped out of his boots. Sheppard stood to one side of the entrance, casually munching on a PowerBar. The odd noise Zelenka had heard had been Sheppard peeling off the wrapper.

Sheppard's smile evolved into a light frown as he carefully pushed the outstretched gun in Zelenka's hand downward. "It's safe out here." He held up the life signs detector in one hand.

Zelenka cast a worried glance at the dome's interior. "We had a visitor last night. Did you know?"

"Yeah, he hung around for a few hours, got bored and left," said Sheppard nonchalantly. "Don't worry, it's like a housecat. Nocturnal."

"You were awake all night?" Zelenka asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Snuck in a catnap or two along the way," Sheppard winked.

Zelenka resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the bad joke, but instead fixated his gaze on the major's right arm, which sported a large red patch. "Major?" Zelenka nodded curiously at the spot.

Sheppard raised that arm. "This? I have to travel all the way to another galaxy to get poison ivy, and I don't even _get_ poison ivy," he griped. As if suddenly aware of its existence, he scratched at the large spot.

"If you keep that up, it will become infected," advised Zelenka.

Sheppard grimaced at the thought. "Well, you're going to get us off this planet before lunch, so, no worry, right?

Zelenka smiled hesitantly. He wasn't quite as confident as the major in that statement.

**PART 8 **

Over an hour of McKay and Zelenka nitpicking each other's work, as well as added comments from Grodin, Weir, Kavanagh (of all people!) and assorted other technicians who had to get in their two cents worth, and Sheppard was sorely tempted to… to…. Well, he couldn't shoot anyone, nor could he abandon Zelenka and go back to the dome, which he'd now nicknamed Motel Hell for its obvious lack of truly decent accommodations.

_"All right, fixed,"_ asserted McKay's confident voice over the radio. Zelenka didn't look as comfortable in that assessment, even though between the two men, they'd agreed they'd done their best to solve the problem.

"Are you _sure_?" asked Sheppard, making a face as studied the air in front of the gate. He could still visualize the brilliant red burst, like a July 4th fireworks burst, against his retinas.

"_Ninety-nine percent,"_ replied McKay. _"And that's as sure as I can be back here at Atlantis,"_ he concluded rather dryly. McKay had been aggravated to discover that both Sheppard and Zelenka had actually caught some shut-eye during the evening, while he'd worked away the wee hours trying to figure out the problem. Not that Sheppard had managed much of any sleep with the cat and the blasted itch, but he wasn't going to tell McKay. The scientist sort of thrived on being annoyed. Why deprive him of that joy?

They shut down the gate and reopened it from the planet. Sheppard decided to test it first with something else besides his skull. He settled for tossing a twig through, just in case it bounced back. A rock would have been better, but he could see that rebounding right back into his head. One twig sailed through the air easily, landing far past where they'd seen the field erect. Still a little paranoid after the last time, Sheppard tossed more twigs through, several of which went through the blue vortex.

_"Are you done littering?" _came McKay's irate voice.

Sheppard ignored him, turning to Zelenka. "We'll give it just one more test. "He took off his earpiece and tossed it to Zelenka. Just in case… couldn't keep frying them. He very carefully reached out to the space where he'd recalled striking the field the first time. Nothing. He tried another inch. Nada. Looking good. One more inch.

Sheppard didn't even have time to pull his finger away as the shield erupted in all its crimson glory.

He figured he'd been knocked out for a minute or so, but when you felt like you'd been fried to the core of every single cell in your body, unconsciousness looked damned good.

Zelenka's concerned voice finally pierced the dark haze that floated lazily around the air above his head. Sounded like the scientist was talking with Weir, and of course, arguing with McKay. He sure as hell hoped that Weir didn't decide to send somebody through the gate to save their butts.

He hurt all over, as though every muscle had been worked over by a professional, or he'd been through a bone-crunching football tackle.

This sucked.

Sheppard struggled to his feet, then tripped and fell face first into a clump of thick moss. He was busy spitting it out of his teeth while Zelenka's voice was going into that Czech-accented overdrive that was accentuating the headache that was currently squeezing away at his temples.

"I'm okay," he managed. Thank God he didn't have Beckett's voice nattering in his ear asking a million questions about his health. Heck, if the field was going to kill him it would have done so already, but he was sure all these repeated shocks couldn't be good for him. He'd had enough Wraith stuns already, but that only hurt momentarily, leaving that nasty pins-and-needles feelings that he just hated. The effects of this force field lasted longer, and felt like the result of a back-alley beating, although at least now his arm didn't itch from the poison ivy. It just plain hurt instead, but oddly enough, that wasn't as irritating.

Zelenka was suddenly beside him. Sheppard reached out and grabbed onto the man, then hauled himself into a sitting position. In a few minutes, he knew he'd be capable of standing and walking. That meant he was somewhat trapped there with Zelenka and McKay bickering over his head about what went wrong, and while it was amusing in a perverse manner, it was also increasingly annoying.

"Will you two just knock it off?" he snapped. He was greeted by blissful silence. Good to know people realized he was still among the living. "How much worse can this day get?" he wondered aloud.

A drop of something warm and wet splattered across the back of his neck. Sheppard looked up. "Oh crap."

**PART 9 **

Sheppard had occasionally wondered just what a rain of biblical proportions might look like – that 40 days and 40 nights stuff – and now he knew first-hand. The sky had literally just opened up and dumped an oceanful of water atop both men. Zelenka had screamed out inarticulately and thrown himself protectively over the laptop computer. Sheppard knew the thing was waterproof, and could actually stop a bullet, but he supposed protecting computer equipment just came naturally to scientists. However, even waterproof didn't mean the computer could sit at the bottom of a lake for an extended period of time, and if they didn't move soon, that's where they'd be. The deluge had soaked both men within seconds, so it didn't matter that they hung around for a few more minutes to await the delivery of some dry clothes being tossed through the gate. Sheppard gave silent thanks to whoever had invented the multi-purpose Zip-lock bag.

It was a no-brainer that they were going to be staying another night at the Motel Hell, but at least it was dry, relatively clean, and they could lock out the local wildlife. It was actually fine, except that Sheppard didn't like the idea of a long-term stay. Something just didn't feel right, besides his arm, which, despite a liberal application of cortisone cream that Beckett had tossed through along with the dry clothing, still itched.

Atlantis put in calls every so often with updates on their progress, which amounted pretty much to nothing. Even McKay had to swallow his pride and concede that it was something on the planet that was causing the problem, caustically adding that either Sheppard or Zelenka had to have done something, obviously, since both Teyla and Ford made it through the gate with no problem. They'd also all come to the disturbing conclusion that it was people being prevented from returning. Twigs, rocks, sand. All of that went through the field.

Zelenka was doing his best to find the information in the Ancient database. Half an hour ago, he'd managed to crack into the system. Unlike Atlantis, which came alive at their presence, this system seemed to have some security codes. At least Sheppard wasn't required to touch anything more at Zelenka's command, so he was free to stand around, poking around at other things to see what else might come to life. Like lights. Lights would be nice, but even Ancient batteries could croak after 10,000 years in a rainforest. The portable lanterns were good enough for what they were doing, but they still didn't illuminate the whole room. He didn't much care for dark shadows in corners anymore. More often than not these days, dark shadows held Wraith or other nasty Pegasus Galaxy surprises.

**PART 10**

"These files are encrypted," complained McKay.

_"So it would seem," _Zelenka's voice replied from the communications console. _"It is not as though you have anything else to do."_

Elizabeth watched with interest as McKay's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. She knew how the two scientists were always contradicting each other, as well as shooting off snipes, subtle and not so subtle. Yet this time, she suspected that Major Sheppard's influence had something to do with this latest escalating squabble.

"Excuse me?" McKay replied, loud enough for even Ford and Teyla, who were just coming around the corner of the communications area, to hear the conversation. "I have the burden of keeping this entire city running!"

_"Of course," _agreed Zelenka very dryly.

Elizabeth heard a noise in the background, one that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Alas, Rodney had heard it, too. "Oh, you find this funny, major?

"_Not at all," _came Sheppard's voice, and even to those who didn't know him, it wasn't difficult to detect the undercurrent of humor in his voice. _"After all, we're stuck here till the problem's fixed."_

"Can't say there's much for you to do while Zelenka does all the hard work," McKay muttered.

Sheppard didn't rise to the bait. _"Oh heck, I've been looking for the light switch."_

"Light switch?" repeated McKay incredulously.

_"Yup,"_ said Sheppard. _"Everything seems to be Ancient gene activated around here, so till Zelenka needs my magic touch, I'm exploring."_

"Be careful what you touch," warned McKay.

_"What? You didn't watch the video we sent?" _countered Sheppard in a mock hurt voice. _"This isn't exactly a suite at the Luxor, you know."_

"Hey, major!"

_"Ford!"_

Elizabeth suppressed a broad smile as both Ford and Teyla very casually took over control of the conversation. McKay muttered something about encryption being child's play, but before departing to his lab, he described to the stranded men just precisely where he was going – to a perfectly climate-controlled room, where he would sit down in a comfortable chair, turn on as many lights as he wished, and get a nice steaming hot refill of that new very delicious coffee substitute they'd recently bartered for.

A noise of disgust echoed back. While Sheppard had no problem with 'roughing it,' Elizabeth didn't think that Dr. Zelenka was very keen on the idea.

The remaining banter was light in tone, and Elizabeth noticed that Sheppard purposefully kept it that way. No mention of being stranded on another planet, except that the wildlife that came out at night was a bit much, so they were stuck at night in the Ancient lab until sunrise. They were experiencing thunderstorms at the moment, which explained the occasional crackle of static over the radio, but it wasn't anything to worry about, offered Sheppard. There really wasn't much to discuss so the topic turned quiet. Elizabeth couldn't hear precisely what Ford and Teyla were whispering to Sheppard as they were off the open comm, so she looked to Grodin for help.

Grodin smiled ever so slightly, arching an eyebrow knowingly as he listened in, since he sat so close to that unit, and many people just tended to ignore him, not realizing just how much he picked up by being quiet. He very casually held up his forefinger and thumb – then pinched them together.

Ah, the pen. Rodney's latest rant on the pen that had derailed him from all gate travel was to have Beckett run a forensic test on it, to look for fingerprints and DNA. Beckett's response? His jaw dropped open wide enough to admit an aircraft carrier and he'd yelled at Rodney, telling him if he kept up his obsession with that stupid pen he'd ship him off to Heightmeyer for counseling.

Before signing off, Sheppard said to call anytime with the breakdown of the downloaded Ancient database. Zelenka was going to continue working on the rest, as he laboriously broke through the security codes on the Ancient computer.

Elizabeth knew that McKay would do just that, even if meant calling Sheppard at three in the morning.

**PART 11 **

Right after he signed off and the connection to Atlantis was severed, Sheppard mentally kicked himself. He should have asked to speak to Beckett. An hour or so after the pain from the force field fiasco had faded, the itch had come back to torment him. But then again, they were stuck in the lab until morning, so it's not like if Beckett sent something else through the gate, he could just go pick it up like going down to a local drugstore.

A few hours passed: long, dull hours. Zelenka was basically obsessed with the Ancient database, like McKay would be, but unlike McKay, he could go for hours at a time without uttering a single word. Definitely dedicated, but it made for a boring time, except when he'd occasionally mutter something under his breath in Czech. Sheppard decided that when he got back to Atlantis, he'd have to dig through the database and find a Czech dictionary. If nothing else, he'd at least know if Zelenka was actually on to something, or just swearing in frustration.

Sheppard was running a finger down one of the many intricate designs on the wall situated between two of the counters. It seemed odd that the Ancients would take the time to put artwork on a wall in what appeared to be some kind of remote outpost, but then again, maybe the Ancients just liked artwork. Most a person would find in a military installation on earth in some backwards area would be a photo calendar, if that.

Yeah, this place needed something - besides light bulbs and a comfortable couch to lie down on. Sheppard stopped his ruminations as he felt a barely perceptible sensation just beneath his finger. It vanished. He studied the lines on the wall. Horizontal, vertical and diagonal, long and short. He retraced the last path his finger took, finding that odd sensation again. The location was precisely at the juncture of several lines. Curious, he pressed his finger firmly on the spot where he felt the sensation.

Several of those lines lit up in a faint lavender color.

"Uh, Dr. Zelenka…"

"I'm busy."

"Not for this, you aren't," countered Sheppard. He pressed his finger at another juncture of lines.

"What is this?" Zelenka was suddenly at his side. The smaller man pushed at the glasses sliding down his nose.

"Beats me." Sheppard kept following the trail, touching, pressing as the lines lit up.

"You are not activating a boobytrap?" pondered Zelenka.

Sheppard opened his mouth to reply, but instead, shook his head. The thought had crossed his mind already, but boobytraps were usually simple and quick. This was taking time and concentration.

He soon ran out of junctures to press, so he stood back, studying the bizarre pattern on the wall, then scratched deeply at his shoulder. It felt like ants were crawling under his skin and it was annoying and creepy.

Zelenka looked around skeptically, even at the ceiling. "Hmm, no lights," he finally commented.

A door abruptly slid open in front of both men.

_"Hou,"_ said Zelenka in amazement.

"Uh, yeah," agreed Sheppard after a second. Yup, there had to be a Czech dictionary somewhere on Atlantis. He quietly removed the safety on his P-90, motioning for the scientist to stay behind him. Now in this room, he figured they could encounter boobytraps. He entered cautiously, the light beam on his gun illuminating the far walls in small sections. Out of curiosity, he touched the wall near the door.

_"Já tomu nevìøím," _exclaimed Zelenka as the room filled with a bright light.

Sheppard didn't care what Zelenka was saying. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

**PART 12 **

Worse than being encrypted, the file was damaged. McKay finished off the dregs of the coffee substitute, grimacing as he looked down into the depths of the mug. A smattering of dark granules remained. Life sucked since the coffee ran out. This new substitute was tepid in comparison. No one knew precisely how to get the proper mixture. Too weak. Too bitter. Too cold. Too hot. He'd kill for a cup of real coffee from even, god forbid, a local supermarket. Except that the Pegasus Galaxy sorely lacked supermarkets, junk food establishments and big box stores.

He stared at the computer screen again, tempted to call up Zelenka and harangue him for sending him that crap, but realized that after several thousand years, and security encryption, they couldn't expect perfection. They were lucky beyond belief that Atlantis herself had responded so graciously to their presence. It was to be expected that not everything would be handed to them on a silver platter.

But in this instance, it was more like being handed a meal on a soggy paper plate. Information was falling through the holes.

He'd modified an algorithm to help break down the code, and it was working, but it required manual intervention every so often. It was slow going, but he was making some sort of progress. He stared at the mug. Empty, except for dark, gritty granules at the bottom. It didn't matter. He needed something to drink. He'd let the computer do its work and he'd get a refill of the 'delicious' brew, and if he had to wake up Sheppard at two a.m., he would. After all, Sheppard had wryly remarked "Anytime."

McKay checked the computer one more time before grabbing his mug. As much as he was annoyed by the extra work, as he actually did have plenty of other things to do now that he was landlocked, he was worried for both Sheppard and Zelenka. They were trapped on a world filled with unknown dangers. Who knew what kind of hungry creatures might prowl around it? It was a rainforest, after all. They had… McKay paused. Um, rainforests had parrots, monkeys… and some sort of predator. He was sure of that. But this was Pegasus. What if the Wraith decided to stop by to do some culling? No. McKay shook the hideous thought from his mind. No, he'd concentrate on just solving the problem that Zelenka couldn't fix and then he'd stand there at the control console, arms crossed in triumph, when the two men dragged their sorry butts through the event horizon.

He only wished he could believe in that scenario.

**PART 13 **

"We could—"

"Lieutenant. For the last time, the answer is no." Weir knew just how much Ford and Teyla were chomping at the bit to return to that planet and help Sheppard and Dr. Zelenka. " The major was adamant that we send no rescue missions, and I agree."

Ford slumped slighted in the chair across from her desk, but then caught himself, and straightened himself back into regulation military posture. An engrained habit, but also something that instilled a bit of confidence.

"And you're both positive that neither the major nor Dr. Zelenka did anything that could have activated the force field?" It was a question that had been fielded time and again but with no useful answer.

Ford shook his head, again, then gazed over at Teyla. "We all followed the major and the doctor through the woods on the same path," said the Athosian. "And we were all were inside the Ancient facility. Even if something was stirred up in the dust that went into the air, we all breathed that same air."

"You think this could be some kind of germ?" questioned Ford. "It could be something as simple as he stepped on something that required the Ancient gene, and that activated the force field."

Weir liked that theory so much better than one which pointed to a biological cause. Even though time had passed since the nanovirus incident, everybody still a tendency to be cautious, more so than before. Five incredibly bright minds, all snuffed out so quickly and in such an awful manner. If Rodney hadn't had the Ancient gene… She shoved that thought aside. It had given her enough nightmares.

"You believe that since the Ancient installation is entirely ATA activated, that the major accidentally set off the field?"

"We've seen stranger things, ma'am," offered Ford.

"It could be a trap," said Teyla solemnly.

That was not what Weir wanted to hear. "Like your necklace?"

"Yes," admitted Teyla with a worried look. A simple piece of jewelry, a remnant from her childhood, which had been innocently returned to her – and then started a chain reaction of terrible events.

"We know that the Wraith are interested in those with the Ancient gene," she explained further. "Could it be possible that a trap was set at the gate, which would allow those with the gene to enter, but not leave."

"Like a roach motel?" muttered Ford.

Teyla looked confused at the terminology, but it was all too familiar to Weir. You can enter, but you can't leave – ever.

"Then we have to get them off that planet, and fast." Ford leaned forward in his chair. That urgent stance he took when he was ready to run off to defend the base.

"Doctor Zelenka does not have the Ancient gene," said Teyla. "Is it possible he could return? That we have just assumed he is unable to pass through this field?"

That very thought had been running through Weir's mind. If that were true, then she knew without a doubt that the major would send the Czech scientist back to Atlantis, even if he had to do it by force. This theory was something they'd need to broach with the two men – quickly.

"I think—"

McKay's voice abruptly crackled in her earpiece. He sounded agitated.

"Elizabeth, I need you in my lab. NOW."

**PART 14 **

Sheppard pulled a PowerBar out of his pant's cargo pocket and motioned it at Zelenka. "Dinner?" The scientist shook his head, too busy with a rectangular computer panel that was being very uncooperative at the moment.

"Suit yourself," said Sheppard, ripping the foil off the bar. The room was a treasure trove of Ancient technology. Little things, big things, enough Ancient computer stuff that well, if Rodney was here, he'd drop to his knees and beg to take it all back with him to Atlantis. Sheppard had checked the room out first, despite Zelenka's eagerness to begin poking about, as any unforeseen danger had to be routed out. After a while, Sheppard determined that it was safe. Unless they flipped the wrong switch and blew up the planet, of course.

A lot of equipment scattered around the room was similar to what they'd found on Atlantis. Even after months, they were still trying to figure out the purpose of some of it. However, the room was in a state of total disarray, like someone had ransacked the room. A small, blue, half-orb poked out from beneath some trays. It looked like an ordinary paperweight but then again… Sheppard picked it up carefully, then dropped it back on the counter just as quickly.

He stood back as a hologram materialized in the air above the device.

"Dinner _and_ a movie," Sheppard remarked with a grin to Zelenka, who stared curiously at the ghostly two-foot image. Judging by the miserable expression on the face of the man in the image, this was _not_ going to be a comedy.

"If you are viewing this message," the man said, "then I have failed."

Sheppard took another bite out of his bar. "Don't like the looks of this."

"Ssssh!" Zelenka held up a finger in irritation as he stared intently at the image. Shutting up, Sheppard thought to himself. Maybe Zelenka was more like McKay than he'd imagined.

"In a moment, I will go outside to seek Rael, and hope that he has not yet succumbed to the madness. I wish it known to the families of those who have perished on this mission that they had no choice in their deaths, nor decision in their actions."

"Do you mind?" Zelenka shot him a sharp glance.

"What?" Sheppard was confused. Zelenka motioned his head keenly at Sheppard's arm, which Sheppard was scratching rather furiously. He couldn't be making that much noise as his fingernails turned his skin a bright red from the constant abuse. Stupid cortisone cream was probably out of date. And he did not get poison ivy. "Sorry, but this itching is driving me nuts," Sheppard said between clenched teeth.

The holographic figure resumed talking, although as it the moment of silence had been added for dramatic pause. "As the warning stated, there was nothing we could do but protect those we left behind. However, in the event the warning has passed, I have placed, in the third vault, the cure that I hope will save Rael. It is our last hope."

The hologram continued on for another minute, with the unnamed and long dead man giving his love to various family members, then the image winked out of existence.

"What?" muttered Sheppard. "Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you're my only hope?"

Zelenka pried his gaze away from the device. "That makes no sense."

"Yeah," agreed Sheppard. "Just what I said. What warning? Talk about your vague last words."

Zelenka chewed nervously on his lips. "It is possible that we disregarded it upon entering."

"We had free access," countered Sheppard. "No big signs flashing Warning, Keep Out, Do Not Enter."

"The Ancients may have been more than subtle," suggested Zelenka.

"Or the local wildlife ate it," pondered Sheppard, thinking about all the signs of animal activity within the open domed area leading to interior rooms. "Or it just fell apart after what, at least 10,000 years?"

"There is that, too," agreed Zelenka.

"We should download this message, send it back to Atlantis," said Sheppard.

Zelenka nodded. "That can be done, but not from here."

"Fine. Put it on a DVD. I'll go to the gate and toss it through."

Zelenka arched an eyebrow dramatically. "You mean, now?"

"Yes."

"Are you forgetting the large carnivorous beasts that lurk outside at night?" reminded the scientist.

"I've got a P-90."

"I think your idea is…" Zelenka stopped as he searched for the right word. "Hare-brained."

"Hare-brained? Excuse me? Where did you--?" Sheppard shook his head. "Never mind. That's McKay's influence."

Zelenka really did look worried. Hell, if he could tackle a Wraith one-on-one, he could take on one big cat. "And you would leave me here?" continued Zelenka. "What if you are devoured?"

"I won't be."

"I believe you would be." Zelenka crossed his arms sternly. "Look at you. All you've done is claw up your arm and shoulder for the last several hours. How will you shoot?"

"I think I can stop for a minute," said Sheppard, perhaps with a bit more sarcasm than necessary. Scientists were such worriers. He went into the main room and grabbed his P-90 off the countertop, then rubbed its barrel against his itching arm. Dammit, maybe Zelenka was right. The itching was non-stop, and worse, it felt like the sensation was creeping into the back of his shoulders. It almost felt like bugs were moving through him, under his skin.

Sheppard carefully opened the door to the dome room, looked out, then shut it quickly. There was a heavy thud on the other side of the door.

"Problem?"

Zelenka had followed him.

"Yeah, bit of a feline problem," Sheppard admitted weakly as he double-checked the door. Definitely shut. A cat – not a big cat – but a _huge _cat, at least 300 pounds. Not that it was a saber-toothed tiger but damn, it was big! Fortunately it had been too startled to make an immediate leap for the door.

Zelenka made some strange noise that Sheppard deduced was one of triumph, scientific logic over the macho military mentality.

"You know," said Sheppard, putting the P-90 back on the countertop. "Think I'll look for that vault, just in case."

Zelenka had already vanished back into the lab. Sheppard followed, wondering if his incessant scratching would eventually draw blood.

**PART 15 **

"Elizabeth, this is bad. I mean, _really_ bad."

Weir didn't have to look to her left to see just how worried Rodney truly was. He was one of the few men she knew who bared his emotions so easily through his voice. And right now, she could tell he was very scared for his friends.

"You called?" Dr. Beckett's cheerful Scottish accent broke the dour mood in McKay's lab for just a second, until he sat down in the chair at Weir's right and looked at the computer screen that had created such somber expressions on both her and Rodney's faces.

"What is this?"

"Download of part of the Ancient's database at the outpost where Sheppard and Zelenka are stuck," said McKay grimly.

"I'm not liking the look of this." Beckett reached out, grabbed the mouse and began scrolling down the data on the screen. "Oh good lord," he gasped.

"At least now we know what the force field is for." McKay looked depressed.

"Ford. Teyla." Beckett sat upright in near panic, then caught himself. "No, Atlantis herself would have caught wind of anything when they'd returned, but if there's any kind of dormancy period. I'd better isolate them."

"Agreed," said Weir. She waited as he called the infirmary and set those plans in motion.

McKay was reading aloud some of the more alarming passages of text from the screen, but Weir knew he was talking more to himself in the hopes that someone would refute what he was reading.

Unfortunately, no one could.

**PART 16**

Sheppard had run the hologram a few more times, in the hopes that he could glean some hidden meaning from it, but the repetitive viewings did nothing more than make him depressed and Zelenka… he was willing to bet the Czech was kicking himself for letting Sheppard convince him to come along on the mission. The scientist hadn't laughed at a single joke, even the ones that weren't so lame, in over an hour.

He couldn't take it anymore. He ran his fingers in one deep scrape down the outside of his forearm. Aw, shit…

"There. You've done it. Happy?"

Good grief. Zelenka had said aloud precisely what he'd been thinking. He'd finally drawn blood, albeit nothing terrible, but still, next time they talked with Beckett, he'd have to ask for antibiotics, and then explain why. Damn.

"Actually, yes," Sheppard finally admitted. He reached back and scratched deeply at the space between his shoulder blades but it didn't do any good. Damn itch was staking a claim there now. How the hell had he gotten poison ivy _there_?

"There is no vault in this room." Zelenka sighed. "Unless it requires the gene."

"Which means I have to keep touching things," muttered Sheppard. Great. How could he touch something if he was too busy scratching? But he shoved aside the thought and started to check out the walls – that's where vaults were usually hidden.

After a while, he could feel eyes on the back of his neck. Turning, he saw Zelenka watching him with an odd mixture of both apprehension and horror. Sheppard wasn't sure what that was about, as the scientist turned away, until he turned back to the wall. He'd been leaving faint but bloody fingerprints all over the wall. His arm looked like some cat had used it as scratching post. Crap. And morning was _how_ far away? He shoved the dismal thought aside. "Well, I can say for certain that there's no vault of any kind in the walls."

Zelenka just uttered an odd noise, and continued working on the laptop, trying to connect into the Ancient database.

Sheppard arched an eyebrow in thought. Why not? They did it on Earth in rare cases. He removed both his boots and socks, then began pacing the room in his bare feet.

"What are you doing?"

"Touch is touch," Sheppard explained to the perplexed scientist. "I'm not crawling around on my hands and knees looking for a safe."

"In the floor?"

"Sure, why not?" Sheppard continued his methodical pacing.

"Why not indeed?" Zelenka replied back, frowning at the recalcitrant computer.

Sheppard almost felt like yelling 'told you so' but instead just stopped in his tracks several minutes later when he felt a slight tremor beneath one foot. He knelt down, and a moment later Zelenka was beside him, and Sheppard placed his palm flat on the smooth floor. The hard surface began to glow red. A second later, a cylindrical container slowly rose from a hidden panel. A pink glow from the underside of its rim illuminated the floor as it came to a stop.

Sheppard and Zelenka stared at it, then at each other. "We might as well," said Zelenka finally.

_Okay, fingers, do your stuff. _Sheppard touched the side with a finger. Nada. No ATA gene activation there. He wrapped both hands carefully around the slim cylindrical shape. A clicking noise resulted and he pulled his hands away quickly. The side of the object opened.

Zelenka swore. Or at least Sheppard was positive that sharp word was definitely Czech for shit, damn, or something a lot worse.

A clear glass vial was carefully encased in the middle of the cylinder. The top half was broken off, the shards scattered at its base like crystalline snowflakes.

"What if this was a nanovirus?" said Zelenka nervously.

"The odds against that—"

"Please do not tell me the odds."

"That's what Han Solo would say-"

"Major, would you please stop quoting stupid movies!" Zelenka nearly shouted. "This is – this is not a movie!"

"Chill out," Sheppard replied sharply. Damn, what next?

"I would love to 'chill out," Zelenka replied in a more deliberate tone as he went back over the laptop. "But it is 80 degrees in here and—would you please stop that. That constant scratching noise is annoying."

Sheppard broke his gaze from the shattered glass. "Well, I'm sorry but this itching is driving me nuts!" he shot back, more harshly than he'd intended.

"You'll be chewing your arm off next," the scientist muttered caustically under his breath. He banged his digits on to the keyboard so hard Sheppard figured he'd bust the stupid computer.

"Don't think I haven't thought about." The sad truth was that Sheppard had thought about biting himself – only the terrifying vision of the poison ivy itch taking over his mouth and throat had stopped him from doing it.

_"Major Sheppard, Dr. Zelenka? This is Atlantis."_

"What?" Sheppard snapped at Weir through the radio.

Weir seemed taken aback by his tone. _"Major?"_

"Is Beckett there?" He didn't care how pissed off he sounded because he was pissed off.

_"Beckett here."_

"_Major," _began another voice.

"McKay, shut up," interrupted Sheppard. "Beckett, this damn ointment you gave me for the poison ivy is utterly useless. If you don't send something that actually works, I'm going to go insane from this damned itching!"

Oh well, he got that out of his system. Now he'd get dressed down for acting like a spoiled brat.

Dead silence.

"What?" said Sheppard.

"What?" echoed Zelenka. The scientist tapped at his earpiece to join in on the conversation, and obviously was also listening to what seemed to be dead air.

"Did they hang up?" wondered Sheppard.

_"Major." _Weir's voice broke the din.

"Sorry," Sheppard immediately apologized. "Look, we found one of those talking holograms—"

_"What did it say?" _blurted McKay.

"It was sorta vague. Some guy talking about failing, some people were dead, and there was a cure in the vault but we found it and it's a broken glass vial and Zelenka thinks it might be another nanovirus and figures we're doomed to die hideously but if that's the case, you can just ship through a naquadah generator. One EM burst and we're clean. Problem solved."

_"John," _said Weir.

_Oh, oh. First name basis._ He shoved down the desire to add on a stupid quip. "Go ahead."

_"We've been able to analyze that information you sent us from the database."_

"Thank God," murmured Zelenka.

Sheppard scratched at his back again. "Come on, don't keep us waiting. We're dying to know," he added with a grin.

Zelenka frowned and tapped at his earpiece as they were once again greeted with silence.

Sheppard abruptly felt very unnerved by the dead air. "Elizabeth, please don't tell me that was a poor choice of words."

_"Very," _came McKay's quiet reply.

"Just what the hell is going on?"

_"To put it bluntly, we think you walked into an Ancient biological warfare facility," _said McKay.

"Nanovirus?" Zelenka's voice was too quiet.

_"I wish," _said McKay.

Sheppard clenched his jaw, doing his best to keep the rising fear out of his voice and off his face. He had to. Zelenka looked pale, like he was going to pass out. Not too long ago, the scientist had spent several incredibly tense hours trapped in the bowels of Atlantis, waiting for his head to implode from a nanovirus-induced aneurysm. This had to be a nasty repeat of that event.

"Beckett, what we are looking at?"

_"According to the notes, which are unfortunately sorely incomplete, the Ancients were experimenting with a biological means to eradicate the Wraith," _replied Beckett. _"Something went wrong."_

"No kidding," snorted Zelenka, which earned him a smile from Sheppard.

_"The symptoms begin with an itching sensation that escalates until—"_

"Death?" ventured Sheppard darkly.

"_Until the victims go insane,"_ finished Beckett. _"And then, er, die."_

Sheppard unconsciously scratched at his arm, then looked at Zelenka, who, this time said nothing. "How long do we have?"

"_According to these notes, less than three days from development of the symptoms."_

Three days? Shit, that meant they had maybe a day or two left to live?

_"Is it bad?"_ Beckett sounded so sympathetic it made his teeth hurt.

"Feels like I've got bugs crawling under skin and no matter how much I scratch, it doesn't help. What is it, a virus?"

_"A parasite,"_ came Beckett's grim response.

Sheppard couldn't keep the revulsion off his face or out of his voice. "You mean I do have bugs crawling under my skin?"

_"Nasty little critters," _added Beckett.

"Thanks a lot," shot back Sheppard.

_"Sorry,"_ apologized Beckett.

Sheppard stared at his arm. If they were parasites, then they were damn tiny things as he didn't see anything crawling around in the blood on his arm. Guess it didn't matter how much damage he did to his skin now.

"Can we kill it?" asked Zelenka.

_"That's the rub," _sighed Beckett, and Sheppard could visualize the man's worried expression. _"We don't know and neither did the Ancients, at least not in time to be of any help. Of the six expedition members, one went missing, presumably killed by one of the large carnivores on the planet." _

"Yeah, nice kitty," muttered Sheppard, recalling the vivid green eyes of the massive cat that had stared back at him in the dome room.

_"One wasn't accounted for—"_

"Probably hologram-man," guessed Sheppard.

"_Three were suicides, and one was, um, killed,"_ he finished. Heavy silence permeated the air as everybody digested the hard facts. _"Major?"_

"What do you want me to say?" began Sheppard. "I'm really not thrilled with the thought that this itching is going to drive me insane enough to that I'd kill myself or –" He abruptly stopped as he uneasily stared at Zelenka. He drew in a steadying breath. "Well, that's not going to happen," he said firmly. "What are our options?"

_"The force field was put in place to keep any infection from leaving,"_ spoke up McKay. "_Hence, your 'rebound' when you tried to go through. And no, we're still trying to figure out how they rigged it as it doesn't seem to be connected to the DHD itself, and… even if you get back to Atlantis, the base's automatic defense system would lock up the base, and well, we've been there, done that,"_ finished McKay sourly.

_"We can send—" _began Beckett.

"Nobody else comes here," Sheppard retorted in a tone that brooked no argument.

"_I wasn't suggesting that, son,"_ said Beckett, a hint of annoyance cutting through his reply. _"I'm getting together equipment and medicines to send through. We'll have 'em ready within twenty minutes."_

"Make that five hours." Sheppard looked at his watch. "We can't leave this place till sunrise. Hmm, don't forget to add something for itching that actually works."

_"Working on it," _said Beckett.

_"We need to find the rest of that database."_ McKay's sarcastic tone was gone, replaced by one of unconcealed worry. _"It was definitely incomplete. There might be an answer to all this… somewhere."_

"Maybe the guy died before he could finish it," muttered Sheppard, wondering if it was possible to scratch himself down to the bone.

_"That kind of defeatist attitude won't get you anywhere,"_ shot back McKay.

Stupid thing to say, Sheppard realized. Sitting back on Atlantis and waiting was in some respect, worse than actually being stuck in the mess. "Teyla? Ford?"

"_In isolation,"_ replied Beckett. "_But so far they're shown nary a sign of any kind of infection, plus Atlantis herself would have shut up tighter than a clam with tetanus if she'd detected a contagion."_

"Good to hear," said Sheppard, then added, "On the no signs things. Just keep the sticks away from Teyla or she'll pry open the doors."

_"Can you think of anything you two did that Teyla and Ford didn't do?"_ Beckett asked. _"Did you touch anything?"_

A derisive snort. Definitely McKay. _"Well, that's a stupid question."_

Zelenka shot a questioning look at Sheppard. "Is he always like this on missions?"

"You don't know half of it," Sheppard remarked, noticing with dismay that Zelenka was scratching at a red spot on his own wrist. Damn! "Look," he said into his radio. "We're going to see what we can dig up at this end. Give us a call in an hour. Sheppard out."

"Now what?" came Zelenka's worried question.

Sheppard began pacing the room again, but this time with a driven purpose. "I'm hoping that what we found _wasn't_ vault number three. Why don't you get cracking on finding that the rest of that file?"

Zelenka nodded.

**PART 17**

"Rodney, you've got to get more information out of that file."

McKay's eyes narrowed as he felt his blood pressure soar and his shoulders tense. He swiveled around on his chair in front of the computer and glared at the Scottish physician who sat beside him. "Really? I thought I'd just dig up 10 or 20 per cent of the data because I'm out of sorts being stuck dealing with centuries-old encrypted _and_ corrupted information while my friends are half a galaxy away on some primitive planet, dying," he snapped.

Beckett stared at him, half in surprise at the outburst, the other half, in sorrowful resignation.

"Sorry," McKay apologized quickly. "It's just that… I've been working on this information since it arrived. It's been hours, and it's damaged and maybe if I had more time, but…" He rubbed a palm tensely against his forehead and then looked straight at Beckett. "But they don't have the time."

Beckett didn't nod, but McKay could see that the doctor felt just as badly as he did at their helplessness. "And I could care less about the force field," continued McKay. "Even if we could remove it, they couldn't…"

"That image." Beckett pointed at a small graphic on the computer screen. "Any chance of enlarging that?"

Thankful for something constructive to do, McKay went instantly to work at doing just that. Even the images were encrypted – no simple double-click and enlarge as with earth-based software programs – but after ten minutes, and employing an algorithm he'd created, the image abruptly filled the entire computer screen.

"Oh, that is gross," McKay sputtered.

The image had to have been created off an electron microscope, or the Ancients version of such equipment. McKay could still recall when as a youth, he'd seen an electron photograph of a lowly dust mite. It had looked as ugly as sin, but compared to the alien image on the computer screen, that dust mite now looked like cute fluffy kitten. The alien parasite was hideous. That was the only word that could accurately describe a visual that not even a mother could love. The parasite was oblong in shape, and its mouth – if Rodney was interpreting it correctly – had rows upon rows of serrated teeth. The damn thing looked armor-plated as well, if that was even possible, and sported at least a dozen nasty claws from short, stubby appendages. The thought that hundreds if not thousands of those _things_ were crawling around _inside_ of both Sheppard and Zelenka made him nauseous.

Fortunately, a noise at the door distracted him. Branford, a lanky young man with hair that he probably hadn't cut since he left earth and was now touching his shoulders, came into the room. One of Beckett's junior doctors.

"Is that it?" The young man sounded excited as he viewed the appalling parasite. That eagerness rankled McKay, but he held his tongue.

"Afraid so." Beckett frowned as he regarded the image with as much distaste as Rodney. "I've never seen anything like it, although parasitology is not my specialty." He looked up at Branford, and McKay felt he was missing something. "You?"

The physician squinted. He removed a pair of wire-rim glasses from his lab coat pocket and put them on. "Those protuberances remind me a thorny-headed worm parasite, but no, I've never seen anything like it, at least not on earth, and I've been studying parasites for twenty years."

McKay arched an eyebrow in suspicion at that comment, as the man didn't look over 30 years old.

"I've been studying parasites since I was kid," clarified Branford when he noticed McKay's incredulous stare. "But we have no idea of the purpose of this creature. From what I can gather from the information we have, its progression is astounding, but we don't know its cycle, if it's symbiotic in any respect to the host, or its sole purpose is to consume the--"

"Must you?" Rodney nearly shouted. "Can't you just find a way to kill these things before they kill Sheppard and Zelenka?"

"Without knowing what it is, no," said Branford.

"We have anti-parasitical medicines on hand that we're going to ship through the gate," said Beckett.

"But?" pushed McKay.

"We have no idea if they'll have any effect on this creature," replied Beckett. "Some of the medication could make the major and Dr. Zelenka as sick as a dog."

"But it wouldn't kill them?"

"No."

"Thank god for small favors," McKay muttered darkly as he turned back to the computer, clicking on the mouse to get rid of the awful magnified parasite photo. He wondered if that if he tweaked the algorithm just a little, if he might not get more out of the file. He had to do something. He couldn't help but dwell on the fact that he'd sent the algorithm to Zelenka, so they could read the data back on the planet. Data that wasn't going to help with the force field, that didn't give them any real information on the parasite, but did give them graphic details of how the Ancient expedition had, one by one, killed themselves in a gruesome method that was readily available to both men.

"Rodney, are we still in contact with the major and Dr. Zelenka?"

McKay looked up, torn away from his dismal thoughts. "Uh yes." He tapped the radio near him.

"Major?" said Beckett.

Silence greeted them.

Worry swamped McKay. "Major?" he said loudly into the radio, realizing that his concern was lacing his words, but he didn't care.

_"What?" _replied Sheppard sharply.

"Testy," muttered Beckett, but then he asked. "How are you feeling?"

_"Well, that's a stupid question," _shot back Sheppard. And indeed, McKay knew it was, too. _"God, I feel like… like it's 1992."_

Beckett and McKay shared a horrified glance. Was the major going insane already?

"Uh," began Beckett, but fortunately Sheppard continued talking. _"Did a stopover in Missouri, visited a friend there and got devoured by chiggers in his backyard. Damned things ate holes in both ankles and it itched for weeks, but these things…" _

"Major?" asked McKay hesitantly.

_"They're like chiggers on steroids!"_ blurted out Sheppard. _"What is it with the bugs in this galaxy? Why are they always trying to suck the life out of me?"_

The last sentence sounded like a whine, something Sheppard never did, and before he could stop himself, McKay laughed. He caught himself, mortified at his response but it was too late. Both Beckett and Branford gawked at him in revulsion. McKay's jaw dropped but he didn't know what to say, how to apologize. He had a bad habit of laughing at inappropriate things while under stress, but—Beckett placed a hand reassuringly on his arm. Perhaps the physician understood that particular quirk as McKay had certainly been a patient enough times under Beckett's care and he must have acted like that before but just didn't remember. Branford just shook his head, appearing disgusted.

Sheppard hadn't said a thing. He either hadn't heard it or didn't care.

"Chiggers are the larval form of a specific family of mites, which are in a way related to ticks," said Branford, "and the itching they leave behind is caused by their saliva, which contains a powerful digestive enzyme that dissolves—"

"_They're going to dissolve my brain?" _Sheppard sounded alarmed, to say the least. McKay put his head in his hands as the major's worried voice continued. _"No wonder those Ancient scientists fried themselves in the gate." _

"Major," said Beckett quickly. "That's not the way to think—"

_"Think?"_ His words crackled harshly over the speakers. _"How can I think? Haven't slept since I left Atlantis. Concentration is going to become an Olympic event at the rate this itching is taking over." _

McKay felt his stomach clench. For Sheppard to admit that, it had to be bad.

_"No, no, just… screw it," _Sheppard's tone was harsh. _"Call back if you've actually got something."_

"Major?" McKay nearly shouted into the radio, but Sheppard must have pulled the plug, quite literally, and taken off his earpiece.

Zelenka's voice echoed over the radio a moment later, only nobody understood it as he was saying something irate in Czech. However, a moment later he seemed to catch himself. _"Do you have any news, or are you just calling to tell us the time?" _finished the scientist sourly.

"Radek," McKay said very evenly. "What is going on there?"

_"Besides your telling the major his brain will be turned to mush by some alien parasite, and by the way, my brain will follow not shortly thereafter?" _sniped the scientist.

"You've got it, too?" McKay said in a horrified whisper.

_"Of course, I do, Rodney."_ Zelenka sighed, sounding very tired. _"It is nowhere near as intense as what the major is experiencing, but the itching makes it very difficult to concentrate, but at least I have something to do. There is nothing the major can do but wait and it is trying." _

"Where is he now?"

_"In the other room,"_ Zelenka answered, then he lowered his voice to an almost conspiratorial whisper._ "Isn't there anything you can do? I'm working on the files here but there is much encryption and so much damage. I fear they have left much of their work incomplete, to the point that there may be nothing left to discover." _

McKay didn't have to look at Beckett to know what the other man was thinking. "You don't think the major would do anything rash, do you?"

_"Please don't use that word."_

"What?"

_"Rash,"_ said Zelenka. _"It just makes me think about itching, and itching makes me scratch and then I am unable to concentrate…"_ The scientist released a long sigh borne of frustration. _"No, I do not think that the major would do anything. He is dealing with it… in his own way."_

McKay didn't like the sound of Zelenka's explanation, nor the tone in which the words were delivered.

"Radek, what do you--?"

_"Rodney, not now,"_ interrupted Zelenka. _"I do hate to agree with the major, but unless you have some relative information to share, I must get back to work, and as you have noticed, Major Sheppard doesn't wish to converse at this moment." _

"Understood," said Beckett. "We'll call back in an hour, just to check in, if you don't mind?"

_"No, that will be fine," _said Zelenka. _"Signing off."_

McKay stared incredulously at the doctor. "What did you do that for?"

"Because there is nothing we can do right now except to get together medications that might do them some good," countered Beckett. "If nothing else, delay the progression of the parasite."

"Until what?" McKay stared morosely at the words on the screen in front of him, text that just taunted him at how useless he was in dealing with this disaster. "Until they do reach the head and then…" McKay clenched his hands helplessly in front of himself, hoping that something could be done before the parasites got that far.

**PART 18**

Normally Sheppard would have felt regret or least a little guilt at snapping at McKay and tossing off his earpiece, but as the minutes rapidly went by, it was becoming more alarmingly apparent that they just might truly die. Part of him wished that McKay was on the planet, that he might crack the database quicker, find something to get them out of this mess, but another part of him was glad the scientist was back at Atlantis because if they did die, Atlantis needed McKay more than it did Zelenka, and that bleak realization did make him feel guilty - that he was assigning value over who was worth more in the long run. And he hated himself for that. Hated that he knew Zelenka would go through precisely the agony that he was experiencing, and that he probably wouldn't be alive to offer support when Zelenka's condition got really bad.

He slid down against the wall of the outer room, realizing that he was probably leaving a blood trail behind him as he sat down on the floor. He'd been gouging away viciously at his back for a while now, knew he'd torn the skin but didn't care, and an irrational part of his mind hoped that the parasites would flow out of him along with the blood. Beckett would no doubt have something caustic to say to that theory.

He tried to think, go over what they knew. There had be to be something in the data they'd torn from the files that could help them.

One of the original expedition members, a scientist named… hell, he couldn't remember the man's name, but he'd been well liked by his colleagues and had left behind a family, had been the first to get infected and within two days, broke free of his colleague's well-intentioned restraints and ran to the gate, dialed home, and then stepped right into the path of the vortex when it materialized. He'd been incinerated on the spot, leaving behind a pair of boots and some smoking feet. A day later, the next infected scientist had probably thought, wow, gee, this was much better than just ripping himself apart before his brain went to mush, so he'd fried himself in the gate as well. Then hologram-man, who'd been writing up the report, feared for the safety of the rest of his people, probably back on Atlantis, and had erected the force field. He'd done so rather hastily, and in case he died before the others did, he left behind no clues as to how he'd done it. But there were constraints to the force field. It still left several feet of vortex capable of being utilized for a means for which it had not been designed.

It was reading the text about the third victim that sent a horrifying chill through Sheppard and, for a brief moment, he'd thought Zelenka was going to start hyperventilating or panicking like McKay had briefly done during that wraith bug incident in the jumper. The third victim lasted longer, to the point that the parasites invaded his head. They'd reached the eyes, or at least the eye sockets. Someone had described that the man's eyes were 'rimmed with the red of madness'. The itching and pain had been so unbearable that the man had eventually… Sheppard still couldn't conceive that anybody, except someone high on an awful hallucinogen, could have … clawed out his own eyes.

Or maybe he could. The itching in his shoulder and back had progressed past annoying and painful to the point he just wanted to be left alone to deal with it his way, and he knew those methods were freaking out Zelenka. He could partially alleviate the itching in his arm by slamming his arm against the wall. It hurt like hell, left bizarre splats of blood against the wall, but the itching died down for a while. It was more difficult to do the same to his back, so he just scratched deeply, even using the butt of his .9mm pistol, but still he could sense the parasites, all the time, moving inexorably toward his head.

When Zelenka had walked in on him with pistol in hand, the man had gone pale and silent, and it took Sheppard a moment to realize that the shocked scientist had thought he'd been ready to put a bullet in his head to end it all, but that was the last thought on his mind. He'd seen what guns did to heads; nasty and not always fatal.

The gate method would be far more preferable if he ever became so desperate that – Sheppard abruptly stopped his dire musings and opened his bleary eyes, staring across the room at the door that led to the dome room and the outside. The gate… when he'd hit that accursed force field… it could… It might work.

He noticed Zelenka quietly enter the room. The scientist had that same worried expression on his face that now seemed permanently etched into his features. Worry that the files were encrypted, that they were hours away from going nuts and a day or so away from death, and on top of that, worry that Sheppard was going to off himself since he had so many weapons on him.

"I'm just scratching." Sheppard was surprised at how stressed his voice came out, like he was pinned down by two dozen Wraith with nowhere to go – not that he wasn't tense from the situation.

"Are you…?" Zelenka coughed nervously. "What I mean is—"

"Still here," Sheppard replied between clenched teeth. "Not going anywhere." At least not yet, at least not until sunrise when he was seriously thinking about the gate and the reprieve it offered, but if he told Zelenka... No, he'd just add that guilt to the ever-increasing layer he was busy building like the Sears Tower. "Any words of wisdom from Atlantis, or the database from hell?"

Zelenka shook his head in regret. "I have the computer running tests, trying to break the encryption."

"Damned shame they were so paranoid." Sheppard wanted so badly to just pound the gun butt into his back, but couldn't do that with Zelenka there.

"Not so much paranoid as cautious." Zelenka sounded regretful. "If the Ancients had discovered a biological method that worked against the Wraith, it would be wise to not have it easily accessible to the Wraith should they have discovered this outpost."

Sheppard heard a beep in the other room and Zelenka quickly apologized, then vanished from sight. Oddly enough, the noise reminded him of a kitchen timer. Popcorn's done. Damn, he was going to miss popcorn. Heck, he already did. When that last batch had been devoured, it felt like he'd lost an old friend. Teyla had no idea just what popcorn meant to Earth folk, for to her, it was just food, and he got the impression, not the greatest of food either.

He pressed the pistol butt deeper into the muscles at the top of his sore back, wishing that hours would pass by more quickly. Hoping that he'd last long enough to even see the sun's morning rays.

* * *

_Next up, the third day, and it's downhill from there._


	3. DAY THREE

TITLE: **I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
WARNINGS: Violence, language, icky gross critters and some swearing.  
See DAY ONE for disclaimers, copyright and other notes.

* * *

**DAY THREE**

**PART 19**

Zelenka woke up abruptly, his whiskered cheek sliding off his hand. He'd dozed off for a moment, something he could not afford to do. He slid his hand against his cheek, noticing that he was definitely past the time to shave. His head ached, though he knew it was not from the parasite, but from intense stress, lack of sleep and bad food. He'd only eaten one or two PowerBars since coming to the planet. On the last communiqué from Atlantis, they'd promised to send provisions as well, although he'd noticed how carefully they'd omitted saying precisely how long those provisions would last. Atlantis could ill-afford to waste foodstuffs on people, even their own, whose remaining lifespan could probably be measured in hours.

He rubbed at his eyes. They felt dry and gritty. Although the eye drops weren't meant for that particular application, he didn't care. A couple drops in each eye and he actually felt halfway human again.

The computer screen was blinking. Zelenka blinked back at it, readjusting his crooked glasses. The algorithm had completed? That was not possible within such a short time. He felt a jolt of horror go through him as he stared at his watch. He had not just dozed off - he had fallen asleep! It was now sunrise! Yet even worse, he came to realize that no one had awoken him.

"Major?" he called out to an empty room. No response. He ran into the outer room, dismayed to find it devoid of any life. As he approached the door to the dome room, he spied a PowerBar wrapper on the floor right in front of the door. "Gone to gate. Stay put." He re-read the hastily scrawled note, just to make sure that his eyes had not deceived him. The major had left him? And why had he gone to the gate?

Zelenka froze in place. No, the major would not have done that. The recollection of how most of the Ancient expedition had chosen to end their miserable existence erupted unbidden into his mind. Zelenka shook his head adamantly. No, Sheppard had survived that awful Wraith bug. He would not so casually end his life. He was also a man who had risked his life time and again for others.

Secure in that knowledge, he tapped his earpiece and called Sheppard, but no one answered. Zelenka went back into the interior lab, then cursed under his breath as he spotted Sheppard's earpiece on the table, precisely where he had placed it the night before when Sheppard had tossed it away in a fit of anger.

This was not good. What if the major was in trouble and needed help?

There was no choice. He would have to go outside and find Sheppard, but first, he had to check on the computer. A file had been deciphered. A new one! But unfortunately, it was the last remaining file as well. He quickly skimmed the broken text, not thrilled at all by what he read, until he re-read some text. It took a moment to realize the implication but also that he would need Sheppard's assistance to pull the plan together.

Excited by this new find, he double-checked the computer, then quickly rummaged through the room until he found what he was seeking. He gave a small prayer of thanks, stashed the item near his computer, and then went to the outer room. He pulled his .9mm pistol from his holster and checked it. It was loaded and for the first time ever; the safety was off. Looking around one last time, he grabbed Sheppard's machete where it lay against the man's backpack. While the gun might prove more useful, for some reason, the big, lethal-looking machete seemed more comforting.

Within seconds, he had scoped out the dome room, as well as the outside area in front of the installation for any potential threats. The forest looked and even sounded more daunting than before, but he hefted the machete in hand. "Indiana Jones could do it," he murmured to himself and then he proceeded into the dense forest.

The last time Zelenka had been in a rainforest, it had been inside a building, at a man-made forest at a zoo. His glasses had fogged up from the humidity, so he hadn't seen much of it as he'd desired, but he'd thought then and there that he would leave real rainforests to the more exotic adventurers.

He whacked at some thick vines that draped across the path since his last journey through. The machete felt heavier than it looked, especially after having to strike the vines several times before their broken pieces finally fell to the ground. The major had made culling out the path look so simple. This was more difficult work than he had envisioned.

He paused momentarily, scratching savagely at one side. He pulled up his blue shirt, sickened at the sight of the huge red patch that was slowly creeping across his chest now. The scratching didn't help, even seemed to make it worse. Soon, he knew, he'd be drawing blood with his fingernails as the major had done.

The gate wasn't far away, that he knew, and within a minute he would come over a slight rise that would give him a view of at least half the gate. As he rose over that gentle slope, his heart raced in panic at the sight before them. The gate had been activated, its blue flux visible through the trees from where he stood.

_No…_

Zelenka dropped the machete, running as fast he could toward the gate.

**PART 20**

"What do you mean, you can't dial in?" McKay's harsh words echoed across the communications area. "You're misdialing."

Peter Grodin tensed his jaw, just a fraction, before replying evenly, "Rodney, I'm dialing PX8 3H6 and it's not locking in."

"Which means the gate isn't functioning, which makes no sense, or…" the scientist began pacing nervously behind Grodin, his cast making a clunky noise against the floor. "Or it's 'busy.'"

Elizabeth stared at the silent gate, then at Rodney, who was looking more agitated by the second. As her mind ran over the text left by the Ancient expedition team, she realized just what was driving Rodney into that tumultuous state.

"Rodney, they wouldn't do that," she said calmly.

McKay turned on his heel, nearly losing his balance on the cast. "How do we know that?" He lowered his voice. "This is the third day. That's when most of that Ancient expedition decided to bump themselves off.

Elizabeth moved silently from her habitual spot at the railing overlooking the gateroom, to stand next to McKay. "You know they wouldn't give up."

McKay's expression was dark and unreadable as he leaned against one of the consoles. "I know that but… you read the Ancient text. Those were all rational men of science who…"

"Rodney," she said softly. "John is—"

"What?" McKay turned, distress dimming his normally vibrant eyes. "He's trained for this? Prepared? How can anyone be prepared for this?"

Elizabeth didn't know how to respond.

"Is something wrong?" Beckett appeared behind them. He had two metallic cases in hand. "Why isn't the gate open?"

"We're trying," McKay replied sharply, looking away.

"It's not broken, is it?" Beckett looked worried, then a more shocked expression took hold. He was no doubt thinking precisely what everybody else who had read the Ancient report was thinking.

God knew, Elizabeth couldn't help but think of it as well, but she summoned up the strength to shove down the fear.

"Peter, keep trying."

**PART 21**

"Major!"

Zelenka's frantic cry echoed into the green canopy above. Just as he reached the clearing in front of the Stargate, his foot caught on an unseen root and he tripped, smashing into the ground. From that vantage point, he saw the tops of Sheppard's boots sticking out ominously from the tall grass several yards away. Zelenka swallowed nervously, ignoring his bruised elbows. He hoped that more of Sheppard remained than just his boots.

The scientist breathed a welcome sigh of relief seconds later when he found Sheppard lying unconscious on his back. "Major?" Zelenka tapped the prone man gently against one cheek. He was instantly rewarded with a sharp blow from the P-90 that sent him reeling backwards.

Zelenka barely caught sight of Sheppard as he sat up, P-90 in grip, until he toppled over to his side with an audible groan.

Sheppard had a hand to his head, his face masked with pain, as Zelenka knelt next to him, careful to stay away from the P-90 that had struck him high on one cheek.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"Me?" Zelenka was definitely confused. "You hit _me_!"

"Should have said something." Sheppard managed to crack open his eyes. "Warn me."

"I did." Zelenka frowned at the bizarre conversation, until he studied the still-activated gate and in dawning realization, suddenly knew what had happened. "You walked into the force field? Intentionally?"

Sheppard sat up, resting his head wearily against upraised knees. "Yeah, seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And you did this because…?" Zelenka waved an arm at the gate as he was at a total loss of words for such an insane act.

"Kills the itch, for about an hour or so," replied Sheppard weakly. He rubbed both temples with his hands but Zelenka could tell it was doing nothing for what had to be a pounding headache.

Zelenka was angry, not only for being left behind at the compound, but for the major putting him through unnecessary worry, but mostly because Sheppard could have easily been killed. "You did not think to mention this fact earlier, or tell me of your demented plan?"

"Uh." Sheppard raised his head for a moment and regarded Zelenka with an odd look. "No. Figured you'd… object."

Zelenka snorted in derision. "Yes. You would make a terrible scientist. No sense of establishing proper parameters for experiments."

Sheppard squinted at the huge gate. "You should try it."

There was nothing that Zelenka would like more than to eradicate the horrid itch that was conspiring to take over his body, but he could also see the physical toll that Sheppard's perverse method of dealing with the itch was taking on the man. A fine sheen of perspiration bathed his too pale skin, and even Zelenka could not help but notice the faint tremors that coursed through the major's limbs.

"No, no, thank you," Zelenka declined politely and with a hint of sarcasm. "One of us needs to be thinking clearly."

Sheppard was silent for a moment before turning his head. "Oh, you're a laugh riot, you know that?"

Zelenka just arched his eyebrows in response, and then tapped his earpiece. "Atlantis. This is Dr. Zelenka. Please come in."

"Won't work."

Zelenka regarded the major, who had shut his eyes. "Not Atlantis. Athos," Sheppard explained.

Zelenka stared at the event horizon. "Why would you dial Athos?"

"Figured Atlantis wouldn't appreciate a prank call."

Zelenka frowned for a moment. No, they would not. Rodney and the rest knew that no one could come through from their end, and with no voice contact, they could easily assume the worst, just as he had for those few terrifying moments. Zelenka shook off the thought, then dug into his vest pocket, retrieved a small object and stuck it in the major's hand.

Sheppard stared at the tiny item. "Oh. Thanks." He positioned the earpiece in its proper place.

The gate shut down. Both men looked up as almost immediately, as someone else began to dial in.

"If it's Wraith, run," ordered Sheppard, aiming his weapon at the gate.

Zelenka knew that if that were the case, Sheppard would stay behind to provide covering fire. He'd made no attempt to move and Zelenka was positive the man hadn't sufficiently recovered from the force field's effects to run, let alone even get to his feet.

Instead, as the vortex flared out, the welcome voice of Dr. Weir filled their radios.

_"Major Sheppard. Dr. Zelenka. This is Atlantis, please respond."_

"We're both here," replied Sheppard immediately.

_"Major. Good to hear your voice."_ Weir was unable to disguise her relief in his hearing his voice. _"We couldn't reach you earlier. Is there a problem with the gate at your end?"_

"Just running some tests," muttered Sheppard.

"And stupid ones at that," added Zelenka under his breath, but alas, his voice carried over the radio.

"What?" Both Weir's and McKay's voices collided.

"Nothing." Sheppard responded quickly. When Zelenka opened his mouth to refute it, the major glared murderously at him and shook his head.

_"Major, Doctor." _Beckett's Scottish brogue broke the tense silence. _"How are the both of you feeling?"_

"We've been better," replied Sheppard truthfully, although as Beckett continued his cross-galaxy diagnosis, Zelenka noticed that Sheppard left out the more graphic details of how he'd scraped apart his own skin in an attempt to assuage the ceaseless itching. He wasn't deluding himself, Zelenka knew, but sparing his friends the pain of knowing and not being able to help.

Zelenka heard a rumbling in the distance, and gazed upwards at the darkening sky through the treetops. The sun had been out only minutes ago! "Can we make this quick? Another storm approaches, and I would like to get back to the compound to test out the scanner."

"Yeah, just send the drugs through," remarked Sheppard dryly. He shook his head, then gawked at Zelenka in utter surprise. _"What scanner?"_

"Radek, you found something?" McKay sounded hopeful.

_"The last file I was able to decode while the major--" _Zelenka caught himself quickly. _"The file spoke of a scanner that the Ancients used to track the progression of the parasite. I found it, but it requires the Ancient gene to activate." _

_"We're sending through the medication now, son," _came Beckett's confident voice. Zelenka could pick up some other conversations in the background, then a stronger voice, one he didn't recognize, telling them to stand clear.

Stand clear of what?

Sheppard yanked Zelenka out of the path as a metallic case of some sort, followed quickly by another, came sailing through the flux. The cases came in low but fast, and tumbled to a halt just a few feet from where the two men were on the ground.

"Give a guy some warning!" Sheppard yelled into his radio.

_"They had to clear the force field demarkation,"_ came McKay's terse explanation. _"They're okay, right?"_

Zelenka brought both cases over to where Sheppard sat. Each man popped opened a case. Sheppard emitted a low whistle. "Gee, think I'll open up my own black market here," he joked of the selection of vials and syringes in the case. Zelenka found a laptop - one of the tougher military ones that could take just such a beating - as well as some other equipment - in the other specially padded case.

Sheppard snapped his case shut, eyeing the increasingly darkening sky above with a wary glance. Zelenka did likewise. The treetops above were blending in with the clouds at an alarming speed. "We will go now to the compound," said Zelenka. "Call us back in an hour…" He carefully studied Sheppard, who nodded silently in agreement. "We should be set up and can transmit the data back to you."

"_We'll be waiting," _said McKay.

"_Godspeed,"_ added Weir.

The gate winked out, followed a moment later by a heavy rumble of thunder. Zelenka automatically grabbed both cases, not commenting as Sheppard got to his feet and staggered unsteadily for a moment. He insisted he was fine, but it was terribly obvious that was a lie.

What worried Zelenka more was what he had seen in the one case. It was not an anti-parasite medicine, but something that he knew without a doubt could be terribly lethal.

**PART 22**

Zelenka was talking excitedly with McKay over the radio in the laboratory, although what the two men could be excited over, Sheppard couldn't fathom. The bulk of the database was toast; they were left with bits and pieces of encrypted files and they probably had less than a day until…

Sheppard turned the alien device over in his hands again. According to the file description, this was the scanner. Zelenka was positive it was ATA-activated. Sheppard was beginning to think the battery was dead, and he bet the warranty had expired, too. The thing was gray, triangular in shape but with blunted edges. There were some indentations on the top, but he'd poked and prodded it with no results. He let the item and his arm drop to the floor.

The trip back from the gate had been like running a marathon. If the monsoon rains hadn't caught them midway back, he knew he would have been soaked in sweat by the time he'd entered the compound. Every muscle ached, every joint felt horribly abused as though he'd been viciously twisted into a pretzel and then dropped onto concrete. It hadn't been this bad with his initial contact with the force field, but then repeated attempts could be damaging his body. Not to mention, the parasite population in his body had probably multiplied exponentially since his initial encounter with the force field. He wanted to believe that the force field had killed the damn things, but he could sense them reviving from their possibly stunned state – that weird pinching feeling, one that soon would escalate into the horrifying familiar itching.

Sheppard hadn't bothered changing into dry clothing when he'd come back. It didn't really matter. At least the rain had washed off all the blood from his back. He'd been worried about that, but not because of infection but that the scent of his injuries would attract that big cat. He'd noticed that the pawprints in the dome room indicated the cat was spending increasingly more time there at night, just biding its time until its prey made a mistake.

And he'd made a mistake. A big one. He'd caved in to the desire to end the itching and had left Zelenka alone. The one thing he'd sworn never to do - to not repeat the disaster on that desert world where Gall and Abrams had met horrible ends because of an error in judgment. Zelenka wasn't dead yet, but he would be. And in the end, Sheppard would leave the man alone, as he knew he would be the first to die. The scientist had to have been infected after Sheppard, which would explain the difference in the onset of symptoms. Or maybe the Ancient gene just made him a tastier morsel. He'd posed that question to Beckett and his team but Beckett felt the gene had nothing to do with it.

The second case had held a laptop with specialized medical equipment for taking blood samples, then transferring the image to the laptop. They'd sent that data via a wireless burst back to Atlantis. Beckett wanted to make sure they were dealing with the same parasite before starting any medication. Sheppard didn't know if that made any sense. The hours were ticking by, their time was dwindling and if by any chance they had to go back to the gate to get more medicines, Sheppard was certain that Zelenka would have to make that trip alone.

Sheppard eyed the scanner device again. He grabbed it off the floor, mentally cursing their constant hunt for alien technology so they could stay alive, but in the end, that search always seemed to take lives and give nothing back in return. The device's dormancy taunted him with its silence and, in frustration and anger, he threw the thing across the room, smiling darkly when it struck a wall.

**PART 23**

"Yes, yes, Rodney," Zelenka was already ahead of the anxious scientist. "There are no more files left to analyze or even find. I do believe that the last survivor must have tried to destroy his work. Probably not thinking too clearly at the time."

_"That's the understatement of the century!"_ griped McKay. A sharp noise of something crumpling, like sheets of paper being mangled in angry hands, came over the radio – interference from the tremendous thunderstorm raging outside. "Radek," began McKay hesitantly. _"I'm… I'm sorry. Dammit. If I were just there, maybe I could--."_

"No, you don't want that," replied Zelenka quietly.

_"You know what I mean,"_ replied McKay. _"I mean..."_

"I know." Zelenka heard something smash in the other room, and so did McKay. _"What was that?"_

"I knocked a piece of debris off the counter." Zelenka cast a worried glance toward the dim entranceway to the other room. He knew that there was nothing truly breakable in the other room, except…

_"Can I speak to Sheppard?"_

"He is not in the most talkative of moods at the moment," Zelenka said with a heartfelt sigh. "He is not feeling too well after—" He caught himself quickly. "With the effects of the parasites. And, he is trying to get the scanner to work."

"_Where the hell is Beckett with those results?" _Zelenka envisioned that Rodney looked as annoyed as he sounded. He could imagine that deep scowl he'd been witnessed to far too many times just consuming the man's face. _"Are you sure Sheppard knows what he's doing? He's not a scientist, you know. He wouldn't know an Ancient scanner from an Ancient pastry toaster. Maybe you two should just go ahead, start the medication. Time's getting—"_

_"—'m here." _Beckett's voice cut in. The squeak of a chair being turned against floor, then McKay's abrupt, _"About time!"_

Zelenka listened as Beckett filled him on what little they were able to determine from the data they'd been sent. The parasite had mutated a tad from its initial image from the Ancients' records, and it looked just 'butt ugly' according to McKay's disgusted assessment. The drugs they sent might help, but Beckett wasn't sure as the parasite didn't match up to anything on Earth and without an actual creature to experiment upon… Zelenka found himself nodding at questions, then realizing he had to say "yes" or "no," and in the end, he asked them for a few minutes while they set up.

When Zelenka entered the outside room, Sheppard was still where he'd left him a while ago: seated but propped up in a corner, looking more miserable than before, if that was humanly possible. Surveying the room, Zelenka's bespectacled eyes settled on the scanner, which was hidden partially in the shadow of a counter on the other side of the room.

"Piece of junk." The major had been watching him.

Zelenka resisted the urge to berate the major for such an immature action. They couldn't afford not to try everything available, but then he scratched furiously at his own arm, and felt total sympathy at the major's frustrations. "It did not work?"

"Paperweight. Doorstop. Art deco crap." Sheppard leaned forward, placing his head on upraised knees, and then dug his hands forcibly into the back of his neck, no doubt tearing the skin once more. The itch was returning.

Zelenka picked up the scanner, relieved that it didn't fall into a million pieces when he did so. If nothing else, the Ancients made durable devices. He stared at it and held it up. He faced the rectangular bottom indentation at Sheppard. "What is this?"

Sheppard looked up, squinting. "What?"

Zelenka crossed the room quickly, knelt and held the scanner within inches of the major's face. "Did this light up before? With this image?"

Sheppard ripped the device out of the scientist's hands so fast that Zelenka was hard pressed not to count his fingers to make sure they all still remained. "Son of a bitch," Sheppard swore under his breath. "That knock against the wall must have done something."

"It is probably activated by your Ancient gene," mused Zelenka, wishing that the gene therapy had worked on him. There was so much he could have done - no, so much he could do. They were not dead. Not yet.

Sheppard held the device in both hands, just inches from his face. The excitement on his face reminded Zelenka of what he'd seen on teenagers back on Earth, the ones whose attention were raptly glued to those little handheld computer games.

Zelenka felt those memories wash away as a deep blackness encircled him. The shift in the major's eyes occurred in a matter of seconds and it was terrifying. Radek's life hadn't been all science; he'd seen the cruelty of communism and its remnants, seen those who had survived and the haunted looks that never left their faces no matter how much time and distance was put between what had occurred and the present. And now he watched as any remaining shreds of hope drained from the major's normally vibrant eyes until all that remained was utter desolation.

"Major?" Zelenka swallowed nervously.

Sheppard didn't look at him. He kept his bleak stare forced off to the side as he turned the device so Zelenka could see. Radek recognized the faint blue outline of the human body, what he had first seen lit up on the rectangular screen, but now… hundreds, if not thousands, of miniscule red dots filled much of that body. One arm, shoulder, chest and neck were nearly solid blocks of red. An almost total parasitical infestation.

Zelenka now recognized the true nature of that desolation: Sheppard was looking at his own death.

Sheppard thrust the device back into Zelenka's hand. The red dots vanished. Ancient gene required - it should be printed on the device, Zelenka thought dismally. Sheppard tapped at his ear, then drew his finger across the throat. Zelenka noticed Sheppard's earpiece was on the floor - again. He removed his own radio unit, realizing that Sheppard didn't want this conversation beamed to Atlantis, not that any of it had been anyway.

With a look of calmness that was a complete contrast to the horror of seconds ago, Sheppard grabbed his P-90 off the floor and held it up.

"Oh no," Zelenka murmured in a terrified hush.

**PART 24**

Elizabeth flinched very briefly when Rodney kicked at the chair in her office. He ignored Beckett's protest at that action, too busy suppressing the jolt of pain that went up his injured leg, but it couldn't stop him from worrying.

"We should send somebody to the planet," he insisted.

"You know we can't do that, Rodney." Elizabeth folded her hands together. McKay realized that was a habit of hers in times of great stress.

"Of course, it's a medical situation," he repeated sourly.

"We have no idea how they were infected with the parasite," Beckett pointed out again. "It's possible they accidentally came across it or unleashed something that is now rampant on the planet's surface so that if anybody goes through, the parasite will attach to any surface and that person can't return."

"But look at Ford and Teyla," argued McKay. "They're fine!"

"For the moment." Beckett leaned forward from where he sat opposite Weir's desk. "There's always the chance the parasite is lying dormant in them. We're running every conceivable test, but it takes time…"

"Which the major and Zelenka don't have!" Rodney snapped, turning on his heel, pacing over to a corner of Elizabeth's glass-encased office, ignoring the looks from the people in the communications area. "Everybody's over-reacting since that nanovirus incident." As if he hadn't… last will and testament time… saving kids…

"Even the major agrees we're to send no one, no matter what the outcome," said Elizabeth in a very even tone.

How could she be calm at a time like this? Sheppard and Zelenka were her friends too! "He's not a doctor," refuted McKay. "He's a soldier."

"Well, I _am_ a doctor and I agree with him," snapped Beckett. He shook his head, sighing. "Rodney, d'ye think I want to leave them on that planet to die? We're doing everything we can."

"And they put us on hold!" That's what had brought it all to a head for Rodney – that Zelenka and Sheppard had done that to their friends on Atlantis – to him. Sheppard had hardly talked to anyone, letting Zelenka deal with virtually everything. Even when Sheppard had had that god-awful Wraith bug attached to his neck and was at death's door, he still was able to muster the energy to yell at McKay. Just what was going on at that planet?

Neither Elizabeth nor Beckett had a response to his question.

"What if the stuff doesn't work, Carson? Then what?" McKay pondered bleakly. "The nanovirus was humane compared to what the parasites are doing. Just a bunch of hallucinations, a headache, then bam, you pop a blood vessel and die. But the parasites…"

He'd read the 'hologram man's' account of the agony the scientists had endured before deciding to take their own lives. He'd read it, again and again, trying to find clues.

"If it comes to that, they won't die that way."

McKay locked eyes on the now very solemn physician. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean they have an option," said Beckett.

"What? Fry themselves in the gate?" McKay shuddered. He couldn't help himself. Elizabeth bowed her head, a painful glint in her eyes. Who hadn't thought of that scenario since reading about it?

"Along with the anti-parasitical medications, I included morphine."

McKay was stunned. "You did what?"

"For the pain," Beckett replied, almost bitterly. "It will get intense, if the records are accurate."

"He won't do it, Rodney." Elizabeth looked up at him, sorrow in her eyes. "He won't leave Zelenka alone, no matter how bad it gets."

McKay was at a loss for words, because maybe for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to say.

**PART 25**

"Ever use one of these before?"

Zelenka stared at the massive black weapon. He'd never even really seen it used before, but knew the terrible damage it could inflict on a human body. He shook his head very gingerly.

"Dr. Zelenka?" Sheppard eyed him carefully. It was almost surreal how the desolation had vanished and the major looked almost… normal. He abruptly rolled his eyes in disdain. "I'm not going to shoot anyone," he remarked drolly, pausing to dig at the back of his neck.

"Of course not," agreed Zelenka but for a fraction of a second, he hadn't been so sure.

"See this?" Sheppard pointed at a small thing on the P-90. 'That's the safety. This way is off. This way is on. Trigger is easy enough. Just point and spray. Don't bother to try to aim."

"I don't understand," Zelenka said in worry. "Point at what? At whom?"

"At _whom_ever or whatever you need to defend yourself from," replied Sheppard, placing the weapon back on the floor.

"Do you plan on leaving?"

"Not of my own volition." Sheppard gouged deeply at his back again, despite the pain the action obviously caused. He drew in a steadying breath before continuing. "Look, Dr. Zelenka, it's a foregone conclusion that if the medicine Beckett gave us doesn't work, we're toast, and we both know I'm going first."

Sheppard reached to one side and slid over a metallic case, the first one that had been lobbed through the gate. He popped the case open with an audible snap. Several folded pieces of paper were stuck haphazardly atop the vials. Sheppard merely plucked them out and tossed them aside.

"Major?" Zelenka opened the papers. They were the detailed pharmaceutical descriptions of the medication, in painfully small print with lengthy patches of words that he did not even understand. They all contained scribbled notes. Beckett's writing, his notes on what they should do in case communications were cut off. "Should we not wait for Beckett?" He grabbed his earpiece and reinserted it.

"Read 'em. Already took a gander at the warnings. It's an acceptable risk." Sheppard plucked one of the vials out of the foam cushioning.

"But there are precautions. What if--?"

"What? It's not like either of us are expecting." Sheppard grabbed a pen-like thing out of the case.

"Expecting what?"

Sheppard stared at him as though the answer was so obvious it flashing in bright neon letters on the wall. Aggravated, Zelenka quickly scanned some of the literature. Oh, that expecting… He looked up in dismay as Sheppard laughed.

"Such a Kodak moment," the major said with a smirk at Zelenka's discomfort.

"I… I…" Zelenka tossed aside the paper, feeling a flush creep across his cheeks. He felt like such a fool, but it was so… absurd. It was all so insane, stuck on an alien planet, dying of a parasitical infestation and he was worried about precautions… he laughed. More of a hysterical release, but one that didn't sound so bad when Sheppard's own laughter mingled with his, until abruptly, Sheppard's laugh turned to a sharp cry. He dropped the vial from his hands, his face contorting in pain, and clutched at the back of his neck. "Oh, Chr…" he hissed.

"The force field…" Zelenka offered hesitantly, upset that he could do nothing. "Its effects are diminishing?"

"Oh yeah." Sheppard had his eyes screwed shut. "Little bastards are all awake and they're pissed to the max." He squeezed at his shoulders so tight Zelenka was positive he'd soon see blood spurt out from self-inflicted injuries, but instead, a strange sense of relief just passed over the major's face.

He grabbed the vial and a syringe. "Um, 2700 milligrams, cut by two, three or four. Severe, makes it two, IM." He filled up the syringe.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Zelenka was still worried. Sheppard had earlier insisted that he be the guinea pig since he was more ill. And he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Sure, I saw the first season of _E.R._," Sheppard joked with a weak smile. He stabbed himself in the scratched arm and injected the drug. Dumping that syringe, he picked up the pen-like object from the case and handed it casually to Zelenka. "Epinephrine. One of the possible side effects is anaphylactic shock."

"Don't worry," Sheppard tried to reassure him. "If my tongue swells and my throat shuts, just stab me in the thigh with that. It's not like it's rocket science."

Zelenka stared at him in horror.

**PART 26**

Two minutes. No blue tongue, no ghastly wheezing like Billy Greene back in second grade. He'd had an asthma attack during third period English class and been carted off in an ambulance as every single kid in the class had plastered their face against the window, oohing and ahhing at the spectacular event and the fact that Billy had gotten out of the test. Hell, he could have one of those neuro or leuko penia things the microscopic-print literature warned about, but since he didn't know what the heck they were, he didn't care. He'd recognized the more mundane but nasty side effects and just crossed his fingers he'd avoid those, and that soon, the damned parasites would dropping dead like fleas in a Raid insecticide TV ad.

Zelenka was still staring at him as though he was some piece of abandoned luggage at an airport, and now the scientist was waiting to see if he'd blow up like bomb-laden suitcase, or just drop dead.

The scientist had reached to tap his radio earpiece to try to contact Atlantis, but Sheppard shook his head. With obvious reluctance, Zelenka acquiesced to his wish. A dying man's last request? God, he sure as hell hoped not. But if he reacted badly to the drug, there was nothing that anybody on Atlantis could do, and he didn't want that broadcast in surround sound over the gateroom. After he'd recovered from the Wraith bug bite incident, he'd found out that virtually the entire disaster had been played out in horrific decibels in both the gateroom and med labs. He didn't want Elizabeth or Rodney, or anybody else, to have to go through that again.

Four minutes. Beckett called Zelenka. Sheppard could tell from the grimace on Zelenka's face that he was getting a literal earful from Beckett when the physician had been told they'd started the medication already. What did Beckett plan on doing? Coming planet-side to smack him upside the head for being a bad patient?

Nope, he wouldn't make a good scientist – or a doctor either – no respect for proper procedure. That impertinent thought brought a twisted smile to his lips, earning him a worried look from Zelenka.

Five minutes. Damn. He could feel the sensation creeping in now, too fast for his liking. Past the shouldn't-have-eaten-all-the-Halloween-candy-in-one-sitting discomfort to the damn-bet-that-chicken-was-undercooked nausea. Why the hell was he thinking about crap like that from his childhood? What? He was going to see his life flash before his eyes now? If so, this might give him another day or so as he was still back in grade school.

Sheppard abruptly bent over, wrapping his arms around his midsection as a wave of cramps hit his stomach. Shit. He wasn't going to hurl right there, leave Zelenka with a mess, especially if this killed him.

He bolted from the corner of the room, through the dome room to collapse to his knees in the scrubby vegetation just outside the compound's entrance, and threw up as the heavy rain began to drench him. His mind oddly registered that oh yeah, he'd eaten a PowerBar not long ago. Should have spoken to McKay, Elizabeth, the others… told them not to give up, told them… another cramp hit him, and he gave into it.

**PART 27**

To Zelenka, there was definitely no doubt about it anymore: the planet was governed by Murphy's Law. Everything that could wrong, had gone wrong. First, the parasite, then no cure, and for such an advanced race putting up an outpost, they neglected to add living quarters of any kind! And of course, the gate shut down just as Zelenka desired contact with Atlantis.

Sheppard had practically knocked him to the floor in his quest to reach the outside, where he proceeded to throw up. Not a pleasant sight to witness, and even less pleasant for the major to experience. Zelenka hadn't seen anyone that sick since his university days, from roommates who had stayed out far too late and imbibed alcohol of dubious origin.

Zelenka had been able to do nothing more than just pace anxiously about with the P-90 in his hands. He'd run back and gotten it off the floor after he realized that the major wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and they needed protection should any predator come along. He didn't like the P-90. It felt cold. A weapon of destruction, nothing more. He had to think a moment about whether the safety was on or off, but he was not going to test the trigger to make certain he was correct.

After a while, Sheppard had simply collapsed against the vine-covered side of the structure. The rain was pouring hard now, but he refused to come back inside. Instead, the major just leaned against the structure, arms wrapped around his middle as he rode out the last vestiges of the drug-induced nausea. He'd swatted away Zelenka's attempts at assistance so the scientist remained at guard, praying that the medication worked, despite its adverse effects.

In time, the sky began to darken and the storm's intensity increased, sending frightening multi-hued bolts of electricity across the sky above. Zelenka eventually helped drag Sheppard inside, where he just collapsed to the floor in the outside room, soaked and bedraggled, and he curled into a fetal position to alleviate the diminishing cramps.

Both men were soaked by the heavy rains, yet Sheppard refused a change of dry clothes. Zelenka managed to get him off the floor, to lie on top of one of the sleeping bags. He rolled up his jacket as a makeshift pillow for Sheppard. The waves of shuddering and panting were slowly abating, but what worried Zelenka was that he'd seen Sheppard vomit blood. That could not be good. Not at all.

Zelenka finally stopped his nervous pacing in the room when he realized his agitation was transferring to the major. Sheppard finally cracked open his bleary eyes, motioned with a hand, followed by a raspy request of "scanner." Zelenka quickly found the device and handed it to him.

And for the last half hour, Sheppard had laid there on his side, watching the scanner intently.

"I look like the United States," he finally said.

Zelenka sat down cross-legged in front of him, confused. "I do not understand."

Sheppard continued to stare darkly at the scanner. He sounded better, but not by much. "You know those satellite shots of the Earth. The ones where the U.S. looks like a lit-up Christmas tree, and Africa is almost pitch black?" Zelenka nodded. He'd seen many versions of them. "I'm like… the northeast U.S. All congested. Overpopulated." He held up the scanner for Zelenka to see. "I don't see any change." Zelenka stared at the screen, at the red that consumed far too much of the image. "I am sorry, major."

"Not your fault." Sheppard let his hand and the scanner drop to the softness of the sleeping bag. He shut his eyes.

Zelenka didn't know what to say. "I'll be in the other room for just a moment." He touched the major gently on the arm, which caused him to recoil slightly. "Sorry."

He went into the lab, stripping off his soaked clothing and putting on the other set that had finally dried out. It scared him to see that the red patch now encircled his waist and was working its way rapidly up his chest. He scratched furiously at it, but it did little good except to redden the skin even more. The itch was maddening, but he could maintain his thoughts, and thus far, the intense pain had not found him, but he did not believe that his luck would hold out for much longer.

A huge peal of thunder echoed overhead, and Zelenka could have sworn it shook the structure itself. A crackle of static erupted in his radio earpiece he'd just put back in. Interference from the storm?

_"--in, repeat, if you can hear us, please respond."_

"Peter?" Zelenka replied.

_"Radek!" _Grodin sounded incredibly relieved.

"I need to speak to Dr. Beckett, privately," Zelenka interjected rapidly, knowing that Weir and Rodney had to be nearby. He'd cut off Atlantis earlier. What good would it have done to relay a blow-by-blow account of Sheppard's misery? Within seconds, the familiar Scottish voice crackled over the radio. Zelenka did his best to explain what had happened, and relayed his concerns for Sheppard's well-being. Beckett couldn't offer any concrete advice on how long it would take for the medicine to take effect, or if it even would slow down the parasites. The physician wasn't overly concerned about the blood, believing that the prolonged vomiting might have torn small vessels in the throat or esophagus but Zelenka was sure that Beckett had held back some choice words after he explained the scanner and its depressing results.

_"How much pain is he in?"_

"It is difficult to tell," Zelenka replied softly. "The medication has weakened him. Of that, I am sure. And he does his best not to let all the pain show."

_"If it gets too severe…"_ Beckett trailed off.

"I know." Zelenka had seen the morphine and there was more than enough to last them. "Is it possible the medication may take time to act?" he asked hopefully.

"_We don't have anything that kills parasites in a one-two punch,"_ admitted Beckett. _"What you have right now has shown excellent results against acute toxoplasmosis as well as Plasmodium falciparum, both of which are earth-based parasites. If it can make a dent in this parasite's progress, there is a chance." _

Zelenka sat down on the stool in front of his laptop, which was still hooked up to the Ancient database. There had to be something he could do. The third vault had never shown up, so both he and Sheppard surmised that the broken vial had been their last hope from the dead Ancients.

_"Radek?"_ Beckett's voice intruded on his thoughts. _"Rodney would like to speak to Sheppard."_

Zelenka sighed, and then scrubbed his hands against his face. The itch was beginning to make itself known on his neck now. "I will get him."

**PART 28**

For the briefest second, he'd stood in front of the gate, waiting for the event horizon to arrive and stabilize. Would he feel it - if he stepped into that flux as it emerged violently from the core? But he'd shaken off the thought, then stepped face first into the force field instead.

Maybe that had been a mistake. Sheppard rolled over on to his back. The nauseous feeling had finally subsided, but in its wake, his throat felt as scorched as the Sahara desert in a firestorm. There'd been no contents in his stomach to toss up, save one measly PowerBar, but his body hadn't taken that fact into consideration, and he'd coughed up bile and eventually, the coppery taste of blood had assailed his mouth. God knows what damage he'd done to his insides but it probably didn't matter. He'd managed to catch some of the rainwater that had plummeted from the sky, at least enough to spit out the bitter taste from his mouth, but he didn't think he could put another drop in his stomach without going through the cramps again.

He felt like shit. Oddly enough, for the brief time he'd spent barfing up his guts, the itch and the accompanying pain had stepped aside for a while to give center stage to the intense cramps. The Ancient scientists had dealt with the overwhelming itch and the bizarre pain that accompanied it, but not the all consuming flu-like feeling he was now experiencing. Hadn't he read somewhere that more people died of medication errors than were shot to death? The cure was rapidly becoming worse than the affliction: the force field was like a fix, a momentary reprieve, but then back to hell. The anti-parasitical whatever had just torn a hole through his middle. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. Maybe just one tiny shot of the morphine, but…

"Should I get it?"

Zelenka's voice sounded close by. Sheppard opened his eyes to discover the scientist kneeling next to him, looking sorrowful, like a pet had just died.

"Get what?"

"The morphine."

"No. _No_," Sheppard repeated. His entire body hurt like hell, but if he went down that path... "Makes me loopy. I'll pass."

"You were speaking of it," Zelenka said, no doubt in response to his confused look. Had he been talking out loud and not merely thinking?

"Had it once before," Sheppard said, wondering if the scorched feeling in his throat would ever go away. "Next thing you know, I'll be telling you how Jane Tenney's father caught Jane and me… no, wait. Forget I said that."

Zelenka looked disappointed. Instead, he held out the radio earpiece, the one Sheppard kept shucking like a bad penny. "Rodney needs to talk to you."

Hadn't they already talked? After the nanovirus incident, Sheppard had found both Zelenka and McKay in the lab getting royally snookered on some Athosian-blended variety of hooch. Rotgut was more like it. Sheppard had tried a shot glass of the purplish liquid, and that had bumped off a few million brain cells right then and there. Zelenka seemed oddly accustomed to the brew, and Sheppard had always meant to ask him about that, but what he really recalled was that Rodney McKay made a lousy drunk, the kind that couldn't stand steady on two feet, and wailed on about past failures and crap like that. Well, he remembered that much of it, as well as how McKay had a really hysterical laugh when he got drunk. They'd all gotten pretty plastered, toasting to the memories of the dead, and discussing their own deaths, and then Zelenka had brought up Rodney's 'saving children' monologue. He wished he could remember the rest. He definitely remembered Elizabeth's glare the next morning at the briefing when both he and McKay had shown up with royal hangovers.

_"Major?"_

Sheppard looked up again. He must have drifted. He took the earpiece. "Rodney?"

_"Major, is that you?"_ asked McKay incredulously.

Sheppard realized his voice still hadn't recovered. "Coughing up your internal organs has that effect on a guy," he tried to joke. "What's up?" God, what a lame thing to say.

_"I… I just wanted to check on how you were… doing."_

It was so damn tough to make small talk when death was just around the corner. "You know, I hope people aren't hanging around my quarters like vultures looking to steal my stuff. I'm not dead yet."

_"I had no idea you were a Monty Python fan," _replied McKay.

Yeah, he was okay with sidestepping the real issue. He was still alive, after all. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

_"Probably just a dead parrot fan." _McKay made a sound of regret. The infamous 'ex-parrot' sketch ... so much for avoiding death.

"I'm rather fond of the crunchy frogs skit myself," recalled Sheppard, but he didn't really want to talk. All he wanted to do was just lie still while he had a momentary lull from the itch. Just pass out. He was exhausted but he felt so miserable that his body wouldn't let him pass into unconsciousness. He could hear McKay nattering on about the Ministry of Silly Walks; it was absurd, but it gave McKay something to talk about besides reality. Sheppard rolled back over on his side. He was still wet, but not as soaked as before. Much of the moisture had been sucked into the sleeping bag beneath him. Although he was thirsty, he was worried that even a swig of water might bring back the nausea. He was probably dehydrated already, but maybe if he dehydrated enough, the parasites would dehydrate as well. Or, with his current luck, they'd just hang on to the bitter end, and suck every drop of moisture from his corpse before moving on to the next meal.

_"Major. Major!" _Rodney's voice was sharp in his ear. Crap. He'd drifted off again.

"Just give these drugs some time to work." Sheppard hoped he sounded positive. He didn't feel it. "Uh, Ford and Teyla. Can you patch 'em through?"

There was a moment of awkward silence and he knew that McKay realized that Sheppard was talking to those close to him, in the event that the drugs failed. It sucked.

The talk with Ford and Teyla was tough. Both of them were trapped in isolation, showing nary a sign of the parasite, yet Beckett couldn't risk their release. Teyla still held out hope for Sheppard, and said as much, but he'd heard the slight quaver in her voice, the unspoken fear that he wouldn't be returning. Ford knew the drill; had been through it before in his career, but wasn't happy at all, although Sheppard suspected part it also had something to do with being trapped in a room with Teyla. They didn't really say goodbye, just left those words unspoken, which was probably for the best.

He was sent over to Weir, just her - no public transmission in the gateroom this time. In a short time, the conversation had steered back to the nanovirus incident. She had to be feeling guilty about the decision to not send any help to the planet, but he had firmly agreed with her in this instance. It was ironic that now the shoe was on the other foot. If he'd been back in Atlantis and it had been his teammates trapped on the planet, he would have done his best to save them. But now… he knew why Elizabeth had made those calls with the nanovirus, which at the time had seemed unfeeling, but the welfare of the entire city was at stake. He heard a catch in her voice, a hint of desperate emotion, but she managed to contain it. They briefly discussed what might happen, but the itch was coming back, worse than before, and he regretfully signed off.

**PART 29**

Beckett sat down wearily in a chair at the lab station. He'd finished going through the decontamination process, something he could have avoided as any of his staff could have gone in and taken more blood samples from both Ford and Teyla. The two needed contact, a friendly familiar face, even if it was Beckett behind the faceplate of a HazMat suit. Ford jokingly accused him of being a vampire since they'd taken so many samples. Teyla quietly withstood the multiple tests, wondering only if there was any chance for the two men. Both were worried sick over the fate of their friends.

He'd given them all the information straight; they deserved that much, and he had the suspicion that Sheppard had done his best not to let his teammates know the true extent of his situation during his last communication, but even Beckett felt obliged to temper any too graphic descriptions.

When would they get out of isolation? Beckett had no idea. It all depended on what happened on that faraway planet, and if the isolated pair showed any symptoms.

What Beckett really needed was a sample of the actual parasite, not just a photographic image and pitiful half-notes that didn't even give any kind of concise medical description of the creatures or even how they were created. And why were only Sheppard and Zelenka affected? Had they come in contact with something the others hadn't? It couldn't be related to the Ancient gene, because Sheppard had it, and Zelenka didn't. The variables were endless. While he'd hoped that being bitten by some insect could be a factor, Ford had evidence of some bug bites, Teyla didn't, and neither Zelenka nor Sheppard could recall any bug bites. Yet all four of the team had been in close proximity of each other throughout the mission, so what had caused the infection?

Beckett shoved aside the questions and began preparing the blood samples for another round of tests.

**PART 30**

McKay stepped out onto Atlantis' balcony by the gateroom. Dusk was settling in, with its cool air and strong winds that rustled through his hair like invisible fingers. It reminded him of an ultra-jumbo version of Toronto's CN Tower, only minus the nets and cages to prevent people from jumping off. Guess the Ancients never had that problem, mused McKay darkly. A palatial canvass of reds, blues and purples splayed across the horizon as the sun set. Another day over on Atlantis. Sheppard loved the variety of sunsets the new world had to offer. If he got in the mood, he could talk endlessly about the incredible vistas he'd seen back on Earth, the cloud formations, what they meant and which ones you could fly through – or not – and even knew the Latin names for them. To McKay, clouds were more of a scientific component, and he didn't have the same emotional context that Sheppard felt for them. It was precipitation levels and ice crystallization to McKay.

He couldn't remember which planet they'd been on, but they'd left just as the sun began to set. Sheppard had remarked on how stunning the pink and gray combination of clouds had been, reminiscing about some time he'd been in Kansas or one of those dreary Midwest states, which in turn had Teyla describing even more glorious sunsets on another world that yet to visit, but one that Sheppard decided should be on their agenda one day. Ford had tried to keep up with the chat, and McKay hadn't stood a chance as no one wanted to hear why clouds were that particular vivid shade of red, and all he'd really wanted to do was just get off that planet because the mosquitoes were coming out and they always went after him first.

A brisk wind swept in from one side and he averted his head. He spied a lone figure at the far end of the balcony. The person held their arms tight to chest but not because of the winds.

McKay hesitated, wary of interrupting Elizabeth's privacy, but at the same time he was desperate to talk to her about the disaster that was unfolding.

"Elizabeth?"

He instantly sensed her discomfort, but she didn't look at him. "Rodney," she stated very simply, and he noticed her wipe a hand near her eyes.

"Um, never mind." He started to leave.

"No, stay." She drew in a breath, forcing a smile. "Beautiful sunset, isn't it? Reminds me of when I was once in Greece."

Did everybody see the beauty in clouds but him?

"Never got there," he replied, refusing to be distracted. He focused on her. "If the parasites progression follows the historical patterns…"

"I know." Elizabeth looked down at the surging ocean far below. "They'll be dead by sunrise."

Rodney felt cold, and not because of the increased wind. "There has to be _something_ we can do."

"We are… but I don't know if it's enough," she admitted, glancing at him before going back to studying the darkening sky. He could have sworn he'd seen a misty quality to her eyes.

"Dammit," Rodney swore, staring at her but she didn't move. "We get through all this crap with the Wraith and now the major and Zelenka are going to die from some stupid parasite!"

"There's still hope."

"Is there?" questioned Rodney harshly. "You heard how bad Sheppard sounded on the last call. He's getting worse by the minute."

"John won't give up."

No, Rodney knew the major was a fighter. He suddenly realized that he never called Sheppard by his first name. He always fell into calling a person by however they were introduced to him, which invariably included titles. Colonel O'Neill – he'd still call him that even though the man had somehow been promoted, not that O'Neill had said much to him on his brief visit to the Antarctic except some snarky remark about him being Canadian. It had been months working with Elizabeth before they fell into a first-name basis. But Sheppard… it was always Major, or, if McKay got really ticked, 'Sheppard,' yelled loud and with venom.

And although McKay now considered Sheppard his best friend – which was really sort of weird as he would never in a million years have thought he'd find common ground with a military pilot – he knew that life on Atlantis would be miserable if Sheppard didn't return.

And Radek. Oh god, his first time off world and he was going to die. Just like Gall and Abrams, only more horribly, because help was just a step away and there was nothing they could do but sit and wait.

This was… it was like when O'Neill had been infected by that nanovirus. He'd read some of the reports from the SGC, anything that related to the nanotechnology the SG teams encountered. The SGC had just left O'Neill on that world to his fate, with no plans of retrieval, because they couldn't risk Earth. And now, they couldn't risk Atlantis.

McKay felt frustrated and guilty that he couldn't come up with a solution – after all, he was the brains of the team, he should be able to find something. Heck, Sheppard probably would have blown himself up a half dozen times over the way he touched objects on alien worlds without knowing what they were.

And everybody was being so stoic about the impending deaths. Even Sheppard - like death was just an on-the-job hazard! Maybe it was in the military, maybe it was in any Stargate program, but it didn't mean they had to accept it.

His fears coalesced brightly in his mind as a hand touched his own.

"I hate this, Rodney." Elizabeth didn't sound like the unflappable leader who had taken over 100 people to a distant galaxy.

"It sucks," said Rodney bluntly.

"Where did you pick that up?" asked Elizabeth. Changing the topics, he wondered, or…? McKay paused. He'd never really used to say that, it was… "The major." Crap, sucks, pissed off. Pretty tame words really but McKay was sure that Sheppard knew a whole slew of unprintable words that he just chose not to use, but wondered if on that distant planet, they were more than appropriate right now.

"The major actually used that word in one of his reports," remarked Elizabeth.

"You're joking?" McKay's eyes widened in surprise.

"In regard to you," she clarified.

"He what?" Rodney was mortified. "He said I sucked?"

"Not quite." Elizabeth smiled sadly in remembrance. "In regards to S27 6L4."

"6L4?" McKay pondered a moment, then narrowed his eyes as the memory of planet popped into his mind. "Oh, _that_ 6L4! 'Just walk across it, Rodney. It's only mud.' That stuff sucked me in up to my waist. I could have suffocated!"

"Yes, he noted that in his report, and as I recall, he did apologize," reminded Elizabeth gently.

"Um yeah," McKay conceded easily. "Ford wanted to call it Mud World."

An uncomfortable silence developed between the pair – an oddity in itself – as the wind picked up. Someone had once said that a person dies, they never truly die if someone else keeps the memory alive. Rodney always thought that was a crock. A memory is nice, but it wasn't much different than a photograph. Stagnant, one-dimensional, not prone to ticking him off or making him laugh at the most inopportune moment. He'd changed since coming to Atlantis, and he knew it was due in part to the friendships he'd made.

Elizabeth cocked her head, tapping at her earpiece. She squeezed his hand, then released it. "Needed in the lab. I'll let you know..."

McKay watched her head back in to the base, then looked up at the darkening sky, realizing his soul felt as desolate as the heavens above.

**PART 31**

Zelenka sifted through another clump of debris. Both he and the major had already searched both rooms thoroughly after being informed of the parasites' existence, but they had found nothing of any consequence. The room was rectangular in shape, with an alcove off to one side, but the area was mysteriously devoid of any living quarters. It made no sense, even if all the equipment had been 'beamed down' in just one second. He looked at the walls and the scattered equipment, most of which did not work, pondering the true depth of the complex. Were there other rooms, and if so, why had Sheppard's touch not activated access to them? He did not like that there were so many questions and so few answers.

He glanced over at the quiet laptop that was still connected to the Ancient database. While Rodney's algorithm had proven very helpful in cracking open the initial data, it provided no more assistance, so Zelenka had 'tweaked' it – making some radical changes that would no doubt raise the Canadian's blood pressure, but, too bad. At worst, it could do no harm, and best, might turn up more buried data. He had lost count of how many times he had tweaked and tested the algorithm.

Zelenka sighed as he finished examining the last clump of debris. Nothing. Just garbage. He looked past the oblong counter built into the middle of the room to where Sheppard lay in the outer room. Zelenka's eyes widened in alarm when he saw only the sleeping bag crumpled on the floor.

He rushed into that room, panic thankfully evaporating when he instantly spotted Sheppard sitting up in one of the corners, head bent to upraised knees. Arms wrapped around his neck, trying to constrict the pain.

Zelenka approached cautiously, mindful of the last time he had approached Sheppard like this. He did not need another blow to the face. "Major?" he asked, keeping the safety of a few feet between him and the major.

Sheppard didn't look up, but did at least respond. "What?"

"Just… is not important." Zelenka gazed up in worry at the ceiling. Flashes of lightning illuminated the alien skylight, sending bursts of diffused light down to the floor. It would no doubt be awe-inspiring if not for their dire circumstances.

"Just a few more hours."

Zelenka swallowed nervously at that vague statement. "Until what?"

"Second dose," answered Sheppard.

"Of that drug you took that made you so sick?" Zelenka could not believe the major was contemplating another dose, particularly since the first injection had shown no positive results.

"Carson said… the effects could be cumulative," said Sheppard, as if he could read the scientist's apprehensive thoughts.

"It could kill you," worried Zelenka.

"And your point is?"

Zelenka remained silent, not wanting to speak aloud what both of them knew. Sheppard wasn't going to be around for another sunset. "Perhaps I should try it instead."

"How bad are you?" Sheppard asked.

"It itches terribly," replied Zelenka, thinking back to the pink eye and those few days of misery that made him scratch furiously at his back again. "But not so bad that…"

"You claw yourself apart?"

"Exactly." Zelenka sat down in front of Sheppard, wishing he could offer some help or modicum of comfort to the man, but more and more, it was becoming apparent that they were both doomed, a thought that actually depressed him.

"I did not think I would die like this."

"Who would?" Sheppard clenched at the back of his neck with both hands.

"Perhaps in a lab explosion," said Zelenka drolly. "Or like my cousin Vleta. One minute here, the next--" He slammed a fist abruptly into one hand. "Gone. A tractor trailer rig struck her automobile."

"Sorry." Sheppard offered quietly

"It was long ago," sighed Zelenka, recalling the day his parents told him that favorite cousin would no longer be visiting them. He shifted, finding a more comfortable position on the floor. "No, perhaps die in bed with gorgeous fashion model."

This remark actually caused Sheppard to raise his head slightly. "Really?"

"A man can have dreams, can he not?" mused Zelenka.

"Why not?" agreed Sheppard with a weak laugh.

"There was this redhead in Prague," continued Zelenka, the hint of a smile touching his tired eyes. "Her personality was as fiery as her hair. A brilliant biochemist. Ah, but she would not give me the time of day. So, I went to the Pegasus Galaxy to forget about her."

Sheppard frowned.

"I am kidding," replied Zelenka. "At least about the Pegasus Galaxy part. You? Perhaps that Jane Teeney lady you spoke of?"

"God no!" Sheppard actually sounded mortified. "Geez, I'd rather stick my hand in a hornet's nest."

Zelenka waited for more elaboration on this curious statement, but Sheppard fell silent, either unwilling to continue the current topic, or just not in the mood. More the latter, Zelenka realized dismally as he Sheppard leaned into the wall, exhaustion lining his face.

A crackle hissed in his ear. Interference from the raging electrical storm outside, or was Atlantis trying to contact them?

"Hello?" Zelenka stood up.

_"--one there?" _came a distorted voice.

"Yes, we are still here," replied Zelenka. Had that been Rodney or Peter? "Atlantis?" He tapped at his radio again and was greeted by a loud burst of static.

"Zelenka?"

He turned to Sheppard, who now had his head against the wall, hands pressed to eyes. "Water?"

"Yes, a moment." He thought he heard fragments of a voice echo in his earpiece as he went into the other room and retrieved his canteen. Kneeling down, he unscrewed the top and put the canteen in one of Sheppard's hands. If the major was feeling well enough to drink water, perhaps there was a chance they would make it out alive.

Zelenka felt his hopes dashed when instead of drinking it, Sheppard merely poured the canteen's contents into his eyes. He let the container drop uselessly to the floor. Before the major pressed his hands back against his face, Zelenka saw his eyes, and he quickly turned away, lest he betray the horror he couldn't keep off his own face.

The rims of Sheppard's eyes were bright scarlet. The Ancient database had said that the one unfortunate soul who had reached that advanced stage of the infestation had, with his own fingers, literally clawed out his own eyes in a futile effort to stop his agony.

_"…ing trouble reaching… "_

"Bad storms," Zelenka replied back, trying to think, trying not to panic at what the future held for them both. Perhaps the major was right. He should try the second dose or… Zelenka's eyes drifted toward the small case several feet away from Sheppard. If this was truly the end, then being 'loopy' was far preferable to the intense suffering. Surely the major was still cognizant enough to realize this logic.

_"… Sheppard?" _Rodney's voice again, sounding horrible.

Something began to beep in the other room as more thunder rumbled heavily overhead. "Someone answer the phone." Sheppard's inane request.

"I'll get it," Zelenka sighed and he went into the laboratory, not at all enthused about what he expected he would find on the computer display. Hs jaw dropped open as he saw a series of images, remarkably similar if not the same, to what he'd seen on the scanner when Sheppard held it in his hands, flashing across the screen.

Zelenka dropped on the stool in front of the laptop, quickly typing away for the program to repeat certain commands. The sequence of the database displayed again, corrupted, but with a sequence of images, showing a human form almost engulfed in red, but in the next sequence, the red began to dim, some of it fading to pink. An error, or a solution, pondered Zelenka as he stared at the images as though the winning numbers to the nightly lottery were running across the screen and he held that special ticket.

Had the Ancients found the cure after all?

Rodney's voice suddenly burst in his ear. "Please shut up!" Zelenka responded. "And listen to me. I am sending a data transmission through now. There may be a cure."

_"..found a cure!"_ Rodney nearly yelled in his ear.

"Yes, no, I don't know but we can both work on this together."

_"How… did the…?"_ Static cut off Rodney.

"I altered your algorithm and it--" Zelenka ignored Rodney's incensed remarks, thankfully censored by the storm's powerful lightning bursts. As if McKay hadn't circumvented prescribed methods himself when the need arose!

"Did you receive it? Please respond." Zelenka crossed his fingers. He wasn't superstitious but by God, if anything helped.

_"Got it." _McKay's relieved voice rang clear. "About Sh--"

There was a huge burst of static, then nothing more than silence, save for the increasing storm outside and that odd thumping noise he realized had started up a moment ago. After listening carefully, he realized the noise wasn't the storm, but something else entirely.

**PART 32**

Elizabeth strode into the communications area in time to witness Rodney growling menacingly at the computer console in front of him.

"Were you able to reach the major and Dr. Zelenka?" She paused just behind Rodney, to his side, looking down at what he was working on, hoping it was good news.

"For a brief moment, yes." Rodney didn't look up.

"Communications were cut off again," interjected Grodin. The Englishman had barely left his outpost since the mission had gone to ruin, save for some brief snatches of sleep. Come to think of it, who had gotten any sleep lately? "There's the strong chance that the storm is causing this problem, but there's definitely something else at work because the P-MALP we sent through should be boosting the signals. Maybe even something at the Ancient outpost itself."

"Zelenka seems to be holding on," Rodney said in a strangely level tone. "I haven't the faintest idea about Sheppard, although if things were going to hell in a handbasket, I'd like to think Radek would let us know." Elizabeth knew Rodney was hurting – and badly. She'd watched the friendship evolve between him and Sheppard since they'd come to Atlantis. A relationship forged through the common bonds of keeping Atlantis alive, but much more. She didn't want to contemplate what the major's loss would mean to the base, and those who had become close to him, herself included.

Rodney was drumming his fingers impatiently against the console's hard surface. "Come on, come on," he spat at the computer. Something finished. "Finally!" He turned in his chair and stabbed another button. "Carson, did you get that?… Carson? This isn't the time to be taking a break!"

_"Don't get your knickers in a twist!" _Beckett's irate voice snapped back.

"Well, excuse me," shot back Rodney sharply, "But some of us—"

Elizabeth quickly put a hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Does he have everything he needs?"

"Yes, but—" McKay protested.

Elizabeth leaned forward and tapped the button. "Carson, just let us known as soon as have something."

"I will, Elizabeth," he promised.

She studied McKay, who looked about as lost as a person could get without just dropping into a black hole and vanishing entirely.

"We'll get through this," she insisted quietly, although inwardly she found it hard to back up that sentiment.

Rodney barely nodded in response. He continued to stare bleakly at the images that Zelenka had sent through. Without any prompting, he began to explain to her what they were looking at. It wasn't Sheppard's results off the Ancient scanner, but those of a man who had died centuries ago. He'd been infested with the parasite, but subsequent images indicated a reduction of sorts, giving them the tenuous hope that a cure had been found. Beckett called back a minute later. He was cautiously optimistic about that supposition, asking McKay to dig further into the file. What they needed was not the end results, but how the survivor accomplished it. Rodney began to work on breaking down the file, and soon determination and obsession took over, giving Elizabeth the chance to slip back unnoticed to her office.

Her glass-enclosed office, where she couldn't truly vent her outrage at the argument she'd had in Beckett's lab less than half an hour ago. She'd gone down there, expecting news of some sort, but instead walked in on a vehement argument between Beckett and Dr. Mejyers – over the parasite - a microscopic creature on a planet millions of miles away that Mejyers, one of their top biologists, felt could destroy all of Atlantis' ecosystem were it allowed to come through the gate.

Mejyers was a brilliant scientist, she knew that from his records, but his flaw was that he could become far too focused on an idea. Fixated was a better term, but his fellow scientists usually tempered that error. However, he was as a fast as a striking cobra when it came to arguing his points, which left little leeway for Beckett to respond.

Elizabeth knew how to deal with this kind. He might have been a cobra, but she was the mongoose: and they inevitably won the battle. By the time she was done with him – explaining that until the parasite was eradicated, neither Zelenka nor Shepppard could even leave that planet – Mejyers was whipped. At least he had the good graces to be embarrassed about his outburst and even apologized for his words. Beckett was still bristling at the implication that Mejyers made to abandon the two men.

God, she just wanted to hit something. The thought of punching out Mejyers during his righteous indignation phase had been hovering in her thoughts, much to her horror. She was not a violent person. No, when this was all over, she'd simply go for a long run and then let exhaustion push her into a welcome sleep.

Her eyes pulled away from Rodney and the others in the communications area, back toward the laptop in front of her. She hoped that she would not have to access one particular file on the computer, the one that she and Major Sheppard had devised many months ago, of tactical information, promotion sequences and more, in the event that he died on a mission.

**PART 33**

He wanted to just press the heels of his hands deep into his eyes until he ground the accursed itch into oblivion. The other alternative was tearing his eyes out with his own fingers but he just wasn't there… not yet, but he now understand what had driven that one man to such a horrid and irreparable action. Yet no matter what he did, the parasites would just blithely follow the path through that hole at the back of the eye socket. A bone he'd never bothered to learn the name of back in high school biology because he figured he'd never need to know it later on and besides, Sally Shaffer had been busy flirting with him while they dissected a rubbery dead frog so it wasn't some dead skull's bones he was interested in at that point.

Now some damn horde of alien parasites were just inches away from moving into his brain and laying a zillion eggs or turning into some grotesque squiggle of worms that would turn his brain to a pile of mush or crack open his skull or—

"Stop that!"

Two hands roughly pulled his hands away from his face, and away from the wall that he was leaning against. Zelenka was kneeling in front of him, a tight grip on both wrists.

"Stop what?" Sheppard yanked his hands away roughly and slumped forward.

"Bashing your head against the wall."

Sheppard frowned. It took a few seconds to realize he had been doing just that, which accounted for the dull, focused ache in the back of his head. "Does it really matter?" he asked bluntly.

"Yes, it does," said Zelenka evenly. "I also can't work with that noise."

How could he make Zelenka understand that the pain provided a distraction from the maddening itch? That walking into that brutal force field back at the gate, as much as it hurt, gave him a brief respite from the encroaching insanity, and that any long term damage from that action, well, it just didn't matter, not with the time he had left?

Sheppard pressed his hands into his eyes again, but forced himself to stop before he did any real damage. When he looked up, Zelenka was staring uncomfortably at him. He did that all the time now. "What now?"

"Your eyes are red."

"Bloodshot red? Or 'rimmed with the red of madness' red?" asked Sheppard wearily, quoting the text he'd read in the Ancient file.

"The latter," came Zelenka's bleak but honest assessment.

Sheppard hadn't even known why he'd bothered to ask – he'd known. The itch was so intense that he couldn't even focus anymore. He diverted his gaze from the angry red patch on Zelenka's neck, knowing all too well what lay in store for the scientist, then he cast a dark glance at the door, thinking of what lay beyond.

"No," said Zelenka firmly.

"What does it matter?" replied Sheppard bluntly. Oh god, hadn't he already asked that? The brain cells must be turning to mush already.

"Even if you did make it to the gate in this storm, the field would render you unconscious," pointed out Zelenka. "Then that big cat would eat you. At its leisure, I might add."

Sheppard leaned back, letting his head fall back to strike the solid wall behind him. The deep pain spread out, its dark fingers digging into his head, but it gave him a precious few seconds away from the excruciating itch that had enveloped his neck and head with a horrible tenacity. "Damn, I hate that." Zelenka gave him a puzzled look. "Logic," finished Sheppard. Another surge of the aggravating crawling sensation circled around his sore eyes and he ground his hands into the sensitive skin.

"Wait, wait." And Zelenka was gone.

**PART 34**

Zelenka knew that Rodney would call back as long as the communications held up. Rodney was never one to give up, and although only a few on Atlantis really knew it, the scientist was very loyal to his friends. Zelenka was positive that the man was just glued to a console in the gateroom, trying to find them a way home. If only the days were longer, as the storms seemed to be a nightly occurrence, but then, they were only supposed to have been planet-side for several hours, not days.

After he'd lost the connection to Atlantis, he'd cocked his head, trying to figure out the thumping noise from the other room. Could something being trying to get in? Like that huge cat? Zelenka rushed into the other room, staring in trepidation at the outside door but his attention was rapidly drawn to the corner where Sheppard sat.

He had to pull Sheppard away from the wall so he wouldn't crack his skull open against the hard surface. It was one thing for the man to scratch insanely at the itch, but to damage his head like that was something else entirely. He realized that the major wasn't thinking clearly as he had gone without any real sleep since they'd walked through the gate. The major's eyes now looked worse Sergeant Carstairs' case of conjunctivitis... the vivid red, the puffiness. He had… Zelenka felt like kicking himself. Why had he not thought of that sooner!

"Wait, wait," Zelenka said urgently, and he went into the lab room. He'd left his utility vest atop one of the sleek metal counters that rimmed one long side of the room. The vest was too hot and heavy for this world as far as he was concerned, and the edges of it black fabric now rubbed infuriatingly against the extremely sensitive skin at his neck.

His fingers wrapped around the tiny object in the vest pocket and he dashed back to Sheppard. "For the _zere oogjes_, as Dr. Klasjaak called it," he said, uncapping the tiny bottle.

"Zero what?" muttered Sheppard, focusing reddened eyes on the tiny plastic bottle.

"The pink eye, conjunctivitis," Zelenka explained with a tiny smile at the major's confusion. "The eye drops helped with the discomfort." Sheppard grabbed the bottle. "Two drops in--"

"Screw that." Sheppard squeezed liberal spurts of the liquid into both eyes, and pressed his hands back into his eyes.

"Better?" asked Zelenka hopefully.

Sheppard screamed in agony.

Zelenka watched in shock as Sheppard's fingers abruptly curled toward his eyes. "NO!" Zelenka quickly grabbed both of the major's wrists before the man could do the unimaginable.

Still crying out in pain, Sheppard lunged forward, trying to break Zelenka's tight grip. The smaller scientist slammed into the floor, pain spreading out from the back of his head down to his hips from the sudden impact. He refused to relinquish his grip but Sheppard had other ideas. One hand yanked free in a violent motion.

Zelenka's world exploded into a haze of blinding stars and pain when Sheppard's fist connected brutally with his face. He barely registered the major's other hand pulling free. The major stood to get away, but his foot caught on Zelenka's outstretched legs and he pitched forward.

A heavy smack, followed by a dull thud, filled the air.

Zelenka rolled over, hands clasped to his bruised face, but his eyes widened in stunned disbelief when he saw Sheppard face down on the floor. He rushed over to the man's side and knelt beside him, but a creeping paralysis took hold. All he could do was stare helplessly as blood began to pool out insidiously from under Sheppard's head.

**PART 35**

Why not just send a puddle jumper through? Because the gate was surrounded, literally, by a forest of too-close 60-foot-plus high trees that were probably older the combined age factor of the personnel on Atlantis. Why not send through a team in HazMat suits? Because there was no guarantee that they could return. Sheppard was adamantly against anyone risking a rescue attempt, and Elizabeth sadly agreed. There were a number of volunteers but there was no way Elizabeth was going to risk more lives.

Rodney ran his hands through his short hair. His fingernails scored against his scalp, but the slight pain helped him focus on the task at hand - a task he was failing to complete. He'd been called a genius for most of his life, but it wasn't doing him any good now. Incomplete data, corrupted information. Just tormenting tidbits of data to sadistically let him know how brutally his friends would die.

Rodney got up from his chair and with deliberate determination, strode over the short distance to the dial-up pad. Damned if he was going to let Sheppard perish on that world without a last word. He pounded in the symbols, aware that everyone was staring at him.

When aliens were trying to invade Atlantis, the gate seemed to activate far too quickly, yet when they needed to rescue people, the process seemed mired in cold molasses.

The gate opened, but he felt as cold as the blue light that bathed the floor below. "Major?" Rodney practically shouted but didn't care. Loud static burst over the gateroom's speakers.

"Rodney." Elizabeth was at his side. He hadn't even seen her arrive, but she wasn't going to stop him.

"We can't just leave them there like that," he said in a harsh whisper. "They have to know…." That they were doing all they could.. that they cared, that their loss would be devastating, especially to him.

"They know." Elizabeth's solemn words sounded so final, like the last nail being pounded into a coffin before the body was consigned to uncaring depths of a cold grave.

More static. Raucous and annoying.

"Come on, guys," Rodney encouraged, losing the battle to hide the desperation in his plea. "Please answer!"

A shout came over the radio, the sharpness of the panicked voice chilling everyone who heard the cry_. "—have a medical emergency! I need Beck--!"_

A deafening noise blotted out the rest.

"Zelenka!" cried Rodney. "RADEK!"

Rodney barely heard Elizabeth immediately instructing Peter to do something to get the signal back, but it was over. The gate shut down, its silence sealing the men's fate.

Rodney fell into the chair behind him. "Oh god, they're dead." The blast sounded just like an explosion, but from what, his mind couldn't comprehend. He felt a grip on his shoulder, gentle yet firm. He knew it was Elizabeth but the very fact that she said nothing confirmed his worst fears.

**PART 36**

A flash of white lightning bathed the room just as Zelenka carefully rolled the unconscious man on to his back. Its stark burst of light illuminated the major's pallor and the crimson blood that coated nearly half his face.

The life-giving liquid still oozed from the scalp laceration where the major had struck his head on the counter's sharp corner.

Zelenka frantically checked for a carotid pulse. If blood was flowing out, then Sheppard had to be alive. Dead people didn't continue to bleed, did they? He offered a shaky prayer of relief when his fingertips found the precious pulse.

An intense new sound drew his attention to the high ceiling. The rain was coming down in violent torrents, as though the planet was trying to drown itself. More lightning and thunder filled the night sky as the storm's ferocity escalated into unbelievable proportions.

Static tore through Zelenka's earpiece. Atlantis! Then a voice. Rodney.

"Atlantis!" Zelenka shouted. "I have a medical emergency. I need Beckett!"

A tremendous explosive sound tore through the sky outside, a sound so deafening that Zelenka clamped his hands over his ears as a blinding burst of red light filled the sky above and bathed the interior of the room. He'd even felt the floor tremble under his feet, and for a brief moment, he wondered if someone had dropped the bomb, and would he, as well as the major and the structure, be swept away in a nuclear blast? The sky turned to black again as the storm continued to drench the structure.

A massive crashing echoed in the distance. It kept up for several seconds until only the noise of the torrential rain remained. Zelenka released his breath. Whatever disaster had occurred, it had thankfully not been too close to the building.

He tapped his earpiece, frantically calling back to Atlantis but there was no reply.

He turned his attention back to Sheppard, who had not reacted at all to the storm's unrelenting fury. The major's eyes were red and swollen shut. Zelenka wished he'd had water left, something to rinse out the eye drops to which Sheppard had reacted so badly, but none remained. A sharp bark of laughter escaped from his lips. Dying from lack of water had been the last thing on his mind, and he'd let Sheppard use as much of the bottled water that they had on hand. They could always get more from Atlantis, and ironically, if the rain didn't stop, Zelenka felt the entire installation would soon be underwater.

Within minutes, Zelenka had gathered the emergency battlefield dressings from both his and Sheppard's tactical vests. Fortunately the scalp laceration ran parallel from the eyes so Zelenka was able to press one bandage against the deep wound, and then wrap it and Sheppard's swollen eyes with the other. Zelenka did not think bandaging the eyes would do any good, but if the major were to suddenly awakeb, it would stop him from inflicting more damage.

If he were to awake… The major was out like light, which in itself was a contradictory statement. When a lightbulb blew, it was gone: to be replaced with a new one.

Perhaps it would be better if the major remained unconscious, to then slip quietly into death. With no hope of a cure, to awaken only to die miserably would be beyond cruel.

Zelenka checked Sheppard's pulse again, relaxing only a mere fraction when he detected it beneath the warm skin. He stared at his hands, now stained with the sticky liquid. He stared at the door beyond, wishing he could go outside to wash off the blood, but he knew the large cat waited just outside that door. They were patient predators. Wretched beasts. It did not matter; he wiped his hands off on his pants.

He looked down in deep worry at Sheppard, unsure of what to do next.

**PART 37**

The nanovirus incident had been instrumental in teaching them about how to deal with contagion. An isolation room had been created so that if someone became ill from an unknown disease they could be contained – and not activate the city's self-defensive lockdown mechanism.

Now, Elizabeth stood on the 'clean' side of the unbreakable glass of that room, behind which were Ford and Teyla, still prisoners of the unknown parasite. Rodney stood beside her, a downcast expression dimming his normally vibrant eyes. Beckett was there as well.

They knew that at 0300 hours Atlantis time, the storm patterns on the distant world should dissipate; that is, if it followed the pattern they'd seen established since Sheppard's team went to that planet. At that time they would send a MALP through in the hopes of re-establishing contact.

"And the MALP will go, what? Ten feet before it gets stuck?" came Rodney's acerbic assessment. "We would have used it the first time if it would have worked any better."

Ford stepped up to the glass, fire burning in his eyes. "Request permission to go back through the gate, ma'am."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Permission denied."

Ford persisted. "I'm stuck here. I could be stuck in here indefinitely, right? If I go through the gate, I _can_ help the major and Dr. Zelenka. For all you know—" and his gaze locked on Beckett "—we could be immune to that parasite."

"Or it could be dormant in you, or maybe you're not even infected at all." Beckett sighed. "We've been over this countless times."

"Then we'll go through in HazMat suits!" Ford paced frenetically past the large window.

Rodney shook his head and Elizabeth could have sworn he'd snorted in disgust as Beckett told the young soldier why that wouldn't work, citing parasites like _Cryptosporidium_ and _Schistosomiasis_, water-born protozoans capable of surviving outside a host. Elizabeth had to shake her head before the young man got started on a lecture on the differences between ectoparasites and endoparasites. She'd learned more about parasites in the last 24 hours than she'd _ever_ wanted to know, especially after she'd listened to Branford describe the lifespan and the incredible length of some intestinal worms.

"I'm willing to take that risk!" Ford's loud retort drew Elizabeth back to the present.

"Well, I'm not," she responded levelly, crossing her arms against her chest. "We may have already lost the major and Dr. Zelenka. I'm not losing any more people."

Ford looked ready to explode, until Teyla, who had been standing quietly beside him, laid her hand gently on his arm. His tension seemed to defuse as she stepped up to the glass. "What are the chances that they are still alive?"

Beckett looked grim. "In regards to the parasite, based on what historical data we have on hand, I believe that Dr. Zelenka may have today, but…" He shook his head sadly. "But with the request for emergency medical help that he made, I think it may be too late for the major."

Even Carson's belief in their survival had dwindled. Elizabeth still held out a flicker of hope, the kind of faith that people had when they sat vigil at the side of hospital beds where loved ones lay, their imminent death proclaimed by the doctors.

But they would send the MALP through in a matter of hours, and continue to try to raise the two men until they realized it was time to grieve and move on.

The silence that permeated the air was oppressive.

**PART 38**

Zelenka stared at the images on the screen, watching again as they flashed by, as another 'tweaking' of the algorithm searched for new information. Nothing. He sighed and gave into the insane desire to scratch at his neck, scoring the skin with his fingernails. No matter what he did, it was impossible to alleviate the itch. No wonder the major had acted the way he had.

Glancing down to the floor, Zelenka studied Sheppard carefully. He'd been torn about trying to break down more information in the database and keeping vigil at Sheppard's side. He could not leave Sheppard alone, especially if he were to die. No one should die alone.

He'd rolled Sheppard onto a sleeping bag and dragged him into the laboratory, then made the unconscious man as comfortable as possible. Zelenka had laid him on his side, remembering that people who suffered concussions often awoke with nausea. He remembered much from the first aid course they'd all been required to take before embarking on the expedition, but the course had always ended with the doctors assuming responsibility for the patient.

The scanner turned over in his hands again as he studied it once more. He'd held it every way conceivable, trying to get it to activate for himself, but it would not work for him. While he knew that the image of the parasites' progress within his own body would probably make him ill, as a scientist, he had to know.

Zelenka moved slowly off the stool, his muscles protesting the abuse from the brief but violent struggle with Sheppard. Kneeling down next to the man, he carefully lifted one of the major's hands and pressed the fingers against the device. It lit up, a reddish haze consuming much of the body. Zelenka blinked, concentrating. The red did not look as vivid as before. In fact, he could swear the color saturation was definitely on the washed-out side. He went back and checked the images on the laptop that he felt should be engrained in his memory by now and studied them. Could it be? Could the parasites be weakening?

Might the injection of that drug finally have begun to take effect? He wished he knew the answer, but the scanner did not tell him if the population had decreased, at least not in any easily discernible manner besides color.

He cast an apprehensive gaze at the medical kit he'd brought into the lab. He could take a blood sample, compare it to the ones that the major had done earlier on himself. He'd wanted to help, but he hated needles with a passion. No, he had to put aside that aversion, at least for today, if they were to survive. Rummaging through the kit, he found the small, sharp little metal things for pricking the skin. Doctors always stuck those in the finger, where of course it hurt the most! Zelenka thought about it, then carefully pulled aside the back of Sheppard's T-shirt. The major had already torn the skin there; it was red and swollen now, so perhaps he would not feel it. Zelenka quickly jabbed the skin, flinching as blood oozed from the puncture.

The instructions Beckett had sent along with the portable microscope were easy to follow, but it still took longer than he'd anticipated. He uploaded the blood sample information into the laptop, then compared it to the earlier samples, which were infested with the hideous little creatures. There was a definite shift in the samples. If he read it correctly, the parasites were dying! If the drug was working for Sheppard, then it could conceivably rid him of the parasites as well. He scratched at his side again; the itching was escalating, but at least he could say he was not suffering the 'crawling' feeling that Sheppard had complained of to Beckett. He knew he should take a blood sample from himself for comparative purposes. He shuddered, awkwardly glad that no one saw his reaction. He hated needles, which is why he had avoided it until now, and Sheppard had seen no need to experiment on both himself and Zelenka in the event something went horribly wrong. As if it hadn't already.

Zelenka picked up one of the lancets – he finally remembered the name of the nasty metal things - closed his eyes and jabbed a finger.

**PART 39**

The headache was the first thing Sheppard became aware of as consciousness slowly returned. It felt like a heavy, tight band that wrapped around his head, squeezing vice-like against his skull, especially on one side.

Yet the headache soon felt trivial when he drew in a deep breath. Every cell of his body screamed for relief as muscles he hadn't even known he had ached fiercely. Sick. He felt so sick. Eyes. His eyes had burned, as though he'd poured acid into them. He reached for them but hands gently but firmly gripped his wrists, holding them away with incredible ease. "Do not," came a calming voice. "How do you feel?"

Like shit, he wanted to reply, but his throat felt like it had been scorched with a flamethrower. Worse, he felt like he was in the middle of a full-blown case of flu and been hit by a bus – no, a tank – flattened and squashed into the ground so that not a single fiber of his body remained untouched by the misery. Attempting to move was a big mistake. Nausea gripped his stomach and he took several steadying breaths. Part of it had to be due to the blood. He could smell it – that sickly stench of copper. Feel it, slicked down his face from… memories of the unrelenting itch, he'd poured in eye drops, then indescribable pain. "Oh god." Panic set in and he felt his heart begin to race.

"Major, calm down." That voice again, and hands that prevented him from discovering the awful truth.

"Eyes?" he gasped, shocked at how weak his voice sounded.

"A reaction to the drops, I fear," came the response. "But do not worry. Your eyes are still there, just bandaged."

"Zelenka?"

"Yes. Do you remember what happened?"

Snippets. McKay at the briefing table, coffee mug in hand, griping about alien power supplies and walking casts… Elizabeth telling him to stop tormenting McKay but it really was too much fun to stop… asking Zelenka if he'd like to go off-world and grinning as the man became speechless… force fields… parasites… a relentless itch. "Yes," he replied numbly. Parasites. Hideous death. Why the hell did he wake up?

Sheppard reached again for his eyes but this time Zelenka did not restrain him. His fingers tentatively ran over the field dressing wrapped around his head. An intense discomfort lingered behind that large bandage, and he feared that if he removed the coverings, he'd find out he was blind.

He groaned as the injury on one side of his head angrily made itself known to him. He pulled his hand away from the blood-saturated dressing. "You struck your head and knocked yourself out," explained Zelenka, probably noticing his tense reaction. "I believe you have a concussion, and I think that the laceration will require stitches."

Sheppard didn't respond. Instead, he just curled inward as a wave of nausea rolled over him. He rode it out, grateful that it hadn't gone too far. He was positive he had nothing left to cough up except stomach acid. "How long?" he finally managed.

"Over an hour," replied Zelenka. "Major." A hand tentatively touched his arm. Sheppard flinched at how much that light touch hurt. "I am sorry to prod, but I must know how you feel."

"Like I'm dying," he replied bluntly. A sharp laugh escaped his parched lips. "Probably because I am."

"I do not believe that is the case."

"What?" Sheppard was confused.

"Do you still itch?"

Unrelenting headache and muscles aches, a stomach he wanted to disown, and now his hands felt tingly with that pins and needles sensation, but… "No," he replied, stunned at this revelation.

Zelenka seemed downright ecstatic at his response as he detailed what he'd discovered during the time that Sheppard had been unconscious. The words 'scanner' and 'stupid assumption' filtered through the foggy haze that was wrapping its shroud more and more around his thoughts. Something about blood samples but no thanks, already gave at the office, or at least on the job. Zelenka was droning on excitedly … sorta like McKay did when he got on the scent of some cool new Ancient tech toy. He knew he should be listening, paying attention to the words and their meaning because their lives depended on it, but it was too much effort. He could feel the pain fading away, an indefatigable darkness encroaching in on all sides of his mind, and he welcomed the emptiness that it brought.

**PART 40**

The moon's large orb blanketed Atlantis' ocean with a soft white glow. Elizabeth gazed into the vast distance, watching the rippling waves in their never-ending quest to reach shore. It would be several hours before dawn's first light peaked over the horizon, but only a few hours until the same event occurred on another world, enabling them to send a MALP through.

The control area was oddly quiet considering how on edge everyone remained. Peter dialed up the distant world every half hour, hoping against the odds that they could re-establish contact with the missing men. But each time, the result was the same: no contact.

Elizabeth returned to her office, aware of how everyone studied her as she passed by. They were waiting for her to make the final pronouncement, but she couldn't. Not yet. She owed both Sheppard and Zelenka another chance.

Shutting her door, she called Beckett.

"Yes, Elizabeth?" Beckett sounded fatigued.

"We'll be sending through the MALP at 0300 hours," she said first, knowing he'd ask in the event that something had changed. "How are Ford and Teyla doing? Is there any chance they'll be released from isolation soon?"

"Physically, there's no change. Both appear as healthy as when they'd left for the mission," replied Beckett, almost dismally. He was thrilled his two patients were showing no signs of the parasite, yet he hated not having an actual specimen of the microscopic creature so he could find a cure. He hesitated a moment. "Psychologically, they're showing the stress of not knowing and being unable to help."

"I know," said Elizabeth.

Beckett continued. "Should… Should the major and Dr. Zelenka not return, I would like to keep Ford and Teyla in isolation, just for a few more days. I know it will be rough on them, but we have to consider the safety of the population."

"I understand," said Elizabeth, unconsciously nodding in agreement. It pained her to enact protocol such as this, but it was necessary. She had hoped that she wouldn't lose any friends in this kind of situation. Rodney had nearly perished in the nanovirus incident but luck, science and bravery had saved them all.

Elizabeth glanced through the glass surrounding her office, studying Rodney, who sat at one of the control consoles, still working - in vain, many people silently thought - on the Ancient's database segments. "Carson, I'm worried about Rodney."

"Aye, he's running himself ragged." Beckett didn't sound much better himself, but didn't add anything further. They both knew how close Rodney was to both men. Elizabeth had never expected Rodney to become friends with anyone from the military, as he'd never been shy in his opinion of how the military treated scientists. While Zelenka would be sorely missed by the scientific community, Sheppard's death would have an impact on everyone. He was the military leader who, on more than one occasion, had put his own life on the line to save the rest. She honestly didn't think there was anybody on base who could come close to taking his place.

It felt cold and heartless to be thinking about their deaths when they truly didn't know the men's fate. Rodney was making himself sick with worry that Zelenka or Sheppard could have possibly set off a boobytrap at the compound, or that maybe it was the storm they heard, as even tremendous storms did severe damage. Nobody could forget the tsunami that had nearly destroyed Atlantis and who's to say that world didn't suffer equally as bad weather? Elizabeth had tried to dissuade him from that train of thought, to even go back to his room to catch a nap until the next dial-up, but the man had adamantly refused to relinquish his post at the console. He was letting guilt guide his actions now; guilt that he should have forced Sheppard into taking a more seasoned scientist with him, someone who had field experience.

"Elizabeth?" Beckett's concerned voice intruded. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to do more."

A tired smile crossed her face, although she knew he couldn't see it. "It's not your fault, Carson. Lord knows there was always the chance of this happening. We've been lucky so far."

"For what it's worth, Elizabeth," said Beckett. "I agree with your decision."

"Thank you," she replied. She knew that the decision to allow no rescue of the two men - one strongly backed up by Sheppard himself - was unpopular and given the length of time the situation had continued, she'd already heard rumors of discontent from some sectors. She could deal with that. What worried her was how the base's personnel would deal with the end result, and especially, how Rodney would handle it. She looked out at the control area again. McKay was staring bleakly at the gate.

She signed off with Beckett, then put her face in her hands, praying for a miracle.

* * *

_NOTE: Next, Day Four..._


	4. DAY FOUR

TITLE: **I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
WARNINGS: Violence, language, icky gross critters and some swearing.  
See DAY ONE for disclaimers, copyright and other notes.

* * *

**DAY FOUR **

**PART 41**

The entire landscape outside the Ancient compound had been rearranged by the storm's fury. The ground, once thick with tiny shrubby vegetation, had been cleared in spots down to barren rocks and mud by the torrential rain of the evening before. Massive fronds and leaves from the treetops above were strewn about everywhere, but at least the pathway back to the gate looked moderately clear of large or hazardous debris.

Zelenka ducked back into the dome room, mindful not to slip on the thick coating of mud that now covered the entire floor. A dark, uneven pattern stained the entire wall around, up to a foot in height in some spots, indicating that storm waters had violently surged in there the night before. The only good news was that there was no sign of the large cat that had been staking out the facility since they'd arrived. No doubt the beast was far away, having sought safe refuge and high ground from the storm.

The door shut behind him and he placed the P-90 back on the countertop next to where Sheppard had placed his tactical vest. He had the feeling that those items were all they were going to take back with them. He'd stowed the laptops and their gear in the lab room. If he was right, someone could return later to retrieve it all, and if not, it would not matter.

In the lab room, Zelenka put on his own vest, hissing as the vest rubbed against his tender skin on the side of his neck. At least, if the scanner and blood tests were correct - and he had repeated the tests several times - he was not infected by the parasites and never had been. How ironic that it did seem that he had some alien form of poison ivy! He scratched at his lower back, cursing loudly in Czech at the misery. It did not matter if he woke up the major as that task was next on his agenda. The major had awoken only sporadically since he'd passed out. That initial action that had scared the wits out of Zelenka, but Sheppard hadn't been coherent enough to carry on a conversation. No, instead the major had groaned and just rolled over on the disheveled sleeping bag, trying in vain to find some comfort.

Zelenka popped open the metallic case on the counter next to his laptop, which was safely ensconced in its own case. He stared for a moment at the remaining vials and syringes, then removed only a few, stuffing them into his vest's pockets. If he was wrong about his conclusions, he knew that the major would not be returning to the compound. He stared uneasily at the remaining morphine ampoule in his hand before pocketing it, praying that they would not have to use the drug.

* * *

Someone was slapping him in the face. No. Didn't want to wake up. Staying in a coma was nice. He didn't want to return to the land of the living, as he knew that the misery would return with a vengeance. Had he been stuck on a rack? Sure felt like it. Hadn't that form of torture gone out in medieval times? The faraway voice that was slowly piercing the foggy haze sounded foreign. Russians? Why were Russians torturing him on a rack? A voice, heavily accented but definitely in English, called him by name. 

"Major, please wake up."

"Why?" Sheppard realized that Zelenka was the fiend who was incessantly tormenting him. The floor felt good. Actually, it felt like crap, but the idea of getting up seemed too daunting. His head felt like it was going to explode.

"Because we are leaving."

"Huh?"

"To the gate," replied Zelenka. "Do you not remember our conversation of…? Never mind."

Obviously he didn't. Sheppard thought about what the scientist was proposing. "No. You go. Just send back someone."

"This is not the time for self-sacrifice and heroics," Zelenka replied in a rather exasperated tone. "Rodney told me all about those tendencies you exhibit. No, you are going to the gate if I have to drag you there."

"You may have to." Heroics? Sheppard seriously didn't think he could walk. The weakness he'd felt upon first awakening hadn't disappeared; if anything, it was increasing.

"I will not take 'no' for an answer." Zelenka sounded pissed. Sheppard decided he was spending too much time with Rodney, and that acerbic attitude was rubbing off like grease. Maybe he'd just show the Czech just how stupid the idea was, then Zelenka could go back to the gate, send back help. That was viable, right? The path was pretty well marked. "Uh, vest, P-90," he said.

Zelenka was silent for a moment. Sheppard heard him go to the outer room to retrieve the requested items. "You must get up if we're going to leave." Zelenka was just a foot away and he'd startled Sheppard, who was beginning to wonder which direction he had to move to sit up. The scientist carefully pulled him into a sitting position and Sheppard wobbled briefly, recovering from a wave of dizziness. Loss of blood, blow to head, parasites - he could sit there all day pondering which affliction had caused that annoying symptom. Zelenka handed him the vest and Sheppard fumbled with it, unable to find the armholes until Zelenka helped him. Zelenka put the P-90 in Sheppard's grasp and he held it, suddenly realizing he couldn't even find the clip to attach the weapon to his vest. He could do that in the pitch dark in a firefight, and he had, yet now… this was pathetic. Like a kid getting dressed by mom before being sent off for his first day of school. Zelenka zipped up the vest, then clipped the weapon to it without a word.

It took several minutes for Zelenka to haul him to his feet, and he knew if the counter hadn't been there for him to lean against he'd be flat on his face. All he could think of was how newborn foals staggered around the pasture a moment after they were born, but at least they got better at it.

"This is a bad idea." Sheppard felt one hand along the wall, while Zelenka slung the other arm over his shoulders as they headed toward the door.

"It would be worse to stay," replied Zelenka. The scientist's voice was practically in his ear, encouraging him to move, but all the words in the world wouldn't help if his legs collapsed out from under him like a poorly constructed bridge with a too-heavy load on it.

"Did I fall asleep on my hands?"

Zelenka paused. "No, not that I saw. Why?"

"Got that pins and needles feeling," he muttered. Sheppard braced his hand against the wall as he moved forward another few inches, but suddenly, the wall vanished and he found himself falling. Pain seared up his backside as he landed on something brittle and jagged that shattered underneath him before the floor abruptly stopped his descent. Luckily, Zelenka fell off to the side and not on top of him.

"Major, are you all right?" Zelenka asked in alarm.

"I'm here. Don't yell," Sheppard hissed in pain, trying to reach behind his back to remove whatever was poking viciously into him. "What the hell happened?" Silence greeted him. "Zelenka?"

"A closet," replied the scientist hesitantly, getting to his knees. "A closet full of… sticks."

Sticks? Like the ones Teyla used to beat him black and blue during those practice sessions? Why would scientists stack old sticks in a closet? He heard Zelenka moving about nearby, followed by the noise of something breaking. The scientist was muttering away in Czech again, but oddly enough, he didn't care what Zelenka was doing. Even lying on broken sticks, and being prone, was more inviting than being upright. If he could rest for just a moment…

"Oh no, you don't." Zelenka's sharp voice was loud as the scientist pulled him back up into a seated position.

"Sadist," mumbled Sheppard.

"You will thank me for this later," said Zelenka, dragging him back up to his feet. Sheppard wasn't sure of that. In fact, as another wave of dizziness washed over him and he steadied himself against the wall, he wondered how far he'd get before he'd simply drop dead.

**PART 42**

Zelenka had been glad of his decision to leave at first light. The sun's early morning rays had only just begun to illuminate the storm-ravaged forest when he'd dragged the pilot out of the compound.

Now, they were over halfway back to the gate, but the journey had been long and arduous. More and more, Sheppard was becoming a dead weight that Zelenka had to almost drag along, one difficult step at a time. They'd had to stop more times than Zelenka cared to remember, but there was nothing he could do. His threat to physically haul the major back to the gate did not ring true; Sheppard was simply too heavy for him to drag or carry for such a distance.

He did not like the fact that the sky was dreary and gray once more. He could only surmise they'd arrived during the monsoon season, if the planet had one. Both men were already soaked from the huge droplets of water that continually slid off the vegetation as they pushed their way through the dense foliage that had bent down under the storm's abuse.

Zelenka actually recognized the latest section of winding path. The storm's fury may have damaged the vegetation but it could not move the massive boulder they'd encountered earlier. They'd all studied a moss formation covering one side, and Lieutenant Ford had commented that it looked like the alien from the science fiction movie E.T. Major Sheppard had just glared at the younger man, which Zelenka found odd and bit disturbing, until he had looked at Teyla. The alien woman seemed quite amused as the two soldiers argued briefly over 'this obsession with naming things,' and Zelenka then realized this was their way of passing the time on missions.

Beyond the boulder was a slight dip in the path, which extended approximately one ninety feet, according to Sheppard. The gate was perhaps three hundred feet past that that dip. Encouraged by this information, Zelenka put more effort into dragging Sheppard up to the ridge, yet as the pair crested that point, Zelenka felt his hope for a speedy return home evaporate.

"Oh no."

* * *

Sheppard felt it first, before Zelenka's shocked words pierced his brain. The scientist's grip lessened on his arm. Sheppard couldn't fight gravity or the overwhelming fatigue that coursed through his body, and he collapsed to his knees, wincing at the jolt transmitted up his body and into his aching head. He didn't care which direction he fell after that and he pitched forward. He suddenly found his arms up to their elbows in water. A hand clenched into the back of his vest and instantly pulled him back. 

"We have a problem," said Zelenka.

"Don't tell me we're lost," said Sheppard worriedly. They hadn't passed any bodies of water on their trips to and from the gate. How could they have gotten so far off the path?

"No, we are not lost," corrected Zelenka. "The path is flooded."

"What do you mean by 'flooded'?" asked Sheppard. "Do we need to book a cruise?" he added, trying to add some humor to the situation. He hoped the scientist was just exaggerating.

"I am not sure of its depth, but at least several feet deep," came the reply. "The rest of the path appears to be pick up again about two hundred feet away."

Okay. Could be worse. They could have to cross a lake; this sounded more like a pond. "What kind of water is it?" he continued, sliding down until he was flat on his back. He just needed time to get his strength back.

"It's… water," came the confused reply. "Brownish." He heard a splash. "Warm, thankfully."

"No, still or fast moving," elaborated Sheppard. "Toss in something, see if it's taken away." The rustle of the scientist poking around the nearby forest followed, then a splash echoed in the distance. After a moment, Zelenka proclaimed basically calm waters ahead.

Then, a pair of hands grabbed his vest: the standard procedure Zelenka used to haul him up. Sheppard dug a fist into the scientist's vest and struggled to his feet, until a massive bout of dizziness knocked him back to the ground. He could taste dirt in his mouth but what scared him had been the need for breath and the sudden rapid beat of his heart against his chest, like a trapped hummingbird trying to escape. The frightening sensation died down after a minute, leaving him fatigued and perhaps for the very first time since the parasites had attacked him, truly unsure of his own mortality.

Zelenka carefully rolled him over onto his back, and had he been able to see, Sheppard didn't doubt that the lingering fear would be reflected in his eyes.

"Major?" Zelenka sounded agitated.

"Still here." Sheppard swallowed. His throat didn't feel quite as bad as a couple hours ago. "For now."

"We do not have far to go." Zelenka was trying to reassure him.

"If I die, just leave me," said Sheppard abruptly.

"Excuse me?" Zelenka sounded angry. "You will not die."

"This may not be a choice I can make," said Sheppard darkly. He heard the scientist shift uneasily. "What do you mean?" asked Zelenka.

"Side effect of the parasite, something…" Sheppard shook his head imperceptibly as he felt a flash of dizziness go by. "Heart races a mile a minute, pass out. Can't be good. Getting weaker."

Silence greeted him, but Sheppard knew Zelenka was seriously mulling over the gravity of the situation. Instead, Zelenka said nothing, and hauled him back up to his unsteady feet.

As the pair trekked through the water, Zelenka assumed more of a lead position, calling out the hazards as he'd done since they'd left the Ancient compound – rock, root, branch. Warning Sheppard what to watch out for as he couldn't see the dangers himself.

They'd gone maybe fifty feet, he figured, and at that point the water had leveled off to mid-chest level. Every so often he'd feel debris bump into him – chunks of vegetation or small branches torn away by the storm. Zelenka shoved aside most of it as he continued doggedly toward the goal of dry land.

"This is not so bad." Zelenka actually sounded… cheery. In a way, it wasn't awful. At least the water's current was negligible at best, it wasn't cold, and it was easier to walk if the water helped keep him partially afloat.

"Reminds me of a few years ago," continued Zelenka. "Of my second cousin's basement. Well, he is more like 10th cousin removed and disowned after that disaster. Root, watch out," he added.

Sheppard felt his foot strike the upturned root, and carefully stepped over it. God, the headache was getting worse.

"No, much easier," asserted Zelenka.

Trapped on an alien world, sick as a dog, sloshing through flood waters. "Easier?" repeated Sheppard, wishing he could lie down. Trouble was, he'd drown.

"Yes, it was—" And Zelenka was gone, a splash cutting off his words.

Before Sheppard could shout, the ground beneath his feet dissolved and he was completely immersed under water. Fear gripped him. He kicked rapidly with both feet to reach the surface. Coughing and choking, he spat out the water that had threatened to invade his lungs. He greedily sucked in massive gulps of precious air. His feet couldn't find purchase on anything solid below and he felt himself sinking again, but kicked up, and began to tread water, but he knew he couldn't keep it up for long.

"Zelenka!" he shouted desperately.

The cry of some distance forest creature echoed back to him in the total blackness that was now his existence.

_"ZELENKA!"_

Oh god. It couldn't end like this. So damned close to home only for both of them to drown.

Fear gripped him as something wrapped around a leg and yanked him down.

**PART 43**

Overwhelming despair consumed Zelenka when Sheppard violently kicked his leg away. He had to get the man's attention or else he would drown several feet below the surface!

Zelenka bent back down, trying to extract his foot from the tangle of vines that held him trapped in their twisted grip. A second later, a hand touched his shoulder. Sheppard was beside him. He'd finally understood what had happened. Using his hands, Sheppard blindly felt his way down Zelenka until he came to the trapped foot. Although the water was a bit murky, Zelenka saw Sheppard pull his knife from its sheath. He could lose a foot! Zelenka quickly grabbed the soldier's wrist and knife, pushing upward against Sheppard, hoping the pilot would get the hint. He did. Sheppard relinquished his grip on the knife and shot back to the surface.

Zelenka followed seconds later, the offensive vine's grip severed by the sharp blade. He had never been so glad to breathe in oxygen in his entire life. "Major Sheppard!" Zelenka rapidly turned at a coughing sound, horrified to see the pilot several yards away and beginning to sink. He quickly swam over and grabbed Sheppard, dragging him back from where they'd come, until both their feet found secure purchase on ground again. With Sheppard's back against his chest, Zelenka wrapped both his arms around the man's chest to prop him up. Sheppard dropped the back of his head against Zelenka's shoulder in exhaustion.

"Thanks," he coughed.

"No problem."

"Think I'd rather have been stuck in your cousin's basement." Sheppard coughed again.

"Ah, no, no," argued Zelenka lightly, surveying the water before them, whose distance now seemed much more insurmountable than just a moment ago. "Prague flooded rather seriously a few years back. I was visiting at the time, and his basement was flooding horribly, and quickly. But he was obsessed with rescuing his insulator collection. What a fool! They are made of glass. They can stay underwater for ages with no ill effect. The man had three children. Such idiocy!"

"Did he make it?"

"Yes, by the skin of his teeth, I must admit. I think his wife was ready to drown him after that stupid act," recalled Zelenka. He waited for a sarcastic remark from Sheppard but none was forthcoming. He felt a minute slackening of Sheppard's body, and realized the man had passed out again.

He couldn't hold him like that forever. Sheppard's periods of unconsciousness lasted anywhere from several minutes to over an hour.

Zelenka frowned, worry eating away at him like termites devouring a house. This was not good at all. What would Rodney do? He thought hard – he didn't know what Rodney would do! This didn't involve Ancient technology or computers, just water, mud and trees.

Trees?

Zelenka studied the trees that sporadically erupted from the water all around him like a Louisiana bayou. So many of them were massive, their treetops actually towering into the low-lying clouds. There were younger trees, but not many. All the shrubs and vines were obscured by the water but, Zelenka thought, the plan that popped into his mind just might work.

Dragging Sheppard carefully, Zelenka began slowly making his way toward one of the smaller trees.

**PART 44**

Ford lay back on the bed, covering his face with one arm. He was tired and he hadn't done anything except just lie there like a useless lump on a log, or paced the room until Teyla had snapped at him.

The Athosian seemed to be taking their forced imprisonment in stride, except for that one brief moment. Right now, Teyla was conversing or communing or whatever with Halling. Months ago, Dr. McKay had made some crack about it being like a Vulcan mind meld, but he had suddenly found something incredibly fascinating to do in his lab when she'd wanted to know what that meant.

When the situation had turned dire, Teyla had requested that Halling be brought in from the mainland. The tall man with the piercing eyes had arrived a while ago, along with a few others, and Ford knew that Teyla and her people were holding some sort of ritual for both the major and Dr. Zelenka. He'd been invited to participate but he'd declined and gone to the other side of the room. He'd prayed until he'd run out of prayers to say, hoping against all hope that the major would somehow survive. He'd seen enough death in his life, from childhood friends who had joined gangs and died, to the members of various SGC teams who had never returned to base.

The entire city of Atlantis seemed to gone into some kind of weird stasis since the crisis began. Everybody was waiting. Life went on, but no missions were going out. Markham, when he'd brought down Halling and his people, had stayed and chatted for a while, but there wasn't much to say, so he'd eventually gone back to his post.

There were visitors in and out. Dr. Weir, stopping by to keep them up to date, and on her last visit, he'd apologized for his outburst about going back to the planet. She'd accepted it gracefully, realizing that they were all under a great deal of pressure.

Dr. McKay had come by a few times, and although he was a teammate, his visits weren't something Ford looked forward to. A cloud of doom seemed to hover over the scientist. Ford got the distinct impression that McKay blamed himself for the major's and Zelenka's predicament, but it was just bad luck. McKay had questioned both of them about their time on the planet, seeking any clue but they were tapped out as to why they weren't affected – at least yet.

Beckett or one of his people would come by and take blood samples to the point Ford had offered for them to just suck out a pint then and there and be done with it.

Wait. All they could do was wait – and it was driving him nuts.

**PART 45**

Zelenka sucked at the deep claw mark on his hand, cursing the large rodent that had inflicted the wound. He only hoped that the seeping blood would not attract any predators.

There was no way he could take Sheppard across the water to the dry land hundreds of feet away, not if the major passed out again. Then he'd spied a large piece of floating wood in the distance. It would be perfect for the task.

The only problem had been that the wood was already 'occupied.' A large rodent of some kind, a cross between a rat and a beaver, had made itself at home on top of it. The creature had to be at least twenty pounds.

Zelenka did not have time to seek out another piece of suitable wood. He'd left Sheppard alone and in a vulnerable state. So, he'd swum up to the wood and with a thin branch that fortunately floated by, started to force the rodent off the wood. However, the creature obviously believed in that old adage of 'possession is 9/10th of the law' and had fought back, squealing and snapping viciously as the branch struck it, until Zelenka finally had had enough and just punched the animal in the face. Its fat furry body landed in the water with a satisfying splash, and as Zelenka predicted, the creature had no problem swimming away, its long tail lashing angrily in its wake.

The chunk of wood was at least a foot thick, nearly five feet long and a couple feet wide. Black scoring scarred half of the wood, and Zelenka surmised it must have been blown off a tree by one of the fierce lightning strikes from the previous evening.

Zelenka stopped paddling as he heard it – a human voice – the only other one on the planet – yelling his name repeatedly in a loud mixture of panic and anger. Sheppard was awake! "I am coming!" he yelled, hoping his voice carried.

Within a minute he was back at the tree where he'd left Sheppard hanging – in the literal sense. He'd cut off a piece of one of the many vines that were dangerously obscured under the water and secured it to the clip on Sheppard's vest, then hoisted him up off a branch. It left the poor man with his head dangling back, arms out to the side, but Zelenka had worried if he'd tied the vine around his chest and Sheppard had somehow slipped out, he could have drowned. The idea had sounded simple enough but its inception had nearly pulled one of Zelenka's shoulders out of its socket.

"I am back," he announced in a loud voice. He didn't want to be struck again or shot. When he got close enough, he saw that his irrational fear was not groundless. Sheppard had one hand gripped firmly on the lethal weapon still clipped to his vest, finger on its trigger, the other hand clenching the vine.

"Where the hell did you go?" Sheppard's voice was strained. Zelenka instantly felt guilty. He couldn't imagine awakening, as Sheppard must have: blind, strung up to a tree like bait, and for all he knew, abandoned on an alien world.

"I am sorry, major." Zelenka searched his vest for Sheppard's knife. "I went to secure transportation."

"Just don't ever do--" Sheppard's outburst sputtered. "What?"

"Something that floats, which you can hold on to." Zelenka stared at the knife, grimacing. "I am going to cut you down. The water is just about chest deep here so do not worry." Sheppard merely nodded and a few seconds later, he landed with a noisy splash in the water. Zelenka quickly guided the piece of tree over beside Sheppard, who grabbed on to it like a life preserver. "Be careful of--" Sheppard yelped. "Splinters," finished Zelenka, wincing as Sheppard shook his hand. Yet the soldier continued to exam the object.

"Hold it, will you?" asked Sheppard. Zelenka braced himself against the wood, realizing within seconds what Sheppard planned on doing. It took a couple of tries, but the major managed to climb on board the wood, then laid face down and almost sighed in contentment. Zelenka frowned in annoyance. He'd tried several times to do just that but kept falling off.

"Home, Zelenka." Sheppard feebly waved a hand before it landed back in the water. The humor wasn't lost on Zelenka, but it was quickly overridden by an anxiety that he wondered if it would ever go away. The effort of just the past several minutes had leeched more color out of the major's face, and his breathing appeared more difficult. Of course, if he wasn't lying directly atop the P-90, he might be more comfortable, but Zelenka knew the major would not give up the weapon under any circumstance.

Zelenka made his way to the front of the wood. He laid his hand gently on Sheppard's nearby arm. "We are going now."

"Don't bother stopping for red lights," joked Sheppard.

"Hmmph," muttered Zelenka, willing to go along with it, but he would definitely not dawdle. "I will have you know that the meter is running." He waited for a response, but again, silence. He pressed his fingers against Sheppard's neck, finding the pulse, but he did not like what he felt. He pulled the alien scanner out of his pocket, unwrapped it from the protective baggie, and pressed one of Sheppard's hands against the device. He held his breath, but only the outline of the body was barely perceptible in the daylight. No red dots. His own touch yielded the same result. He'd been worried of a possible re-infection when they'd both fallen into the small room and… he tried not to think of what had happened to that man, whose skeletal remains Sheppard had crushed under his weight. Remains that he had called 'sticks.' He patted a lump in one of his vest pockets: he'd found a small device in the skeleton's grip. Perhaps it might yield more information on what the Ancients had been doing there.

Zelenka pushed the tree chunk and its precious cargo forward in the water, hoping they would make it back to Atlantis in time.

And that wretched rat thing or its cousins had better not get in his way.

**PART 46**

For the briefest moment, the sun had been bright and the water undulated in a soothing motion as he waited patiently on the surfboard. The perfect wave was just seconds away, and all he had to do was time it just right… then a hard pain dug into his back. The sun and the languid Hawaiian waters abruptly vanished as though they'd never existed, to be replaced by the alien walls of the Ancient compound, and he was digging his hands into his back, leaving welts and trails of blood, as he sought in vain to tear out the parasites.

The pain shifted, and he felt pressure on his shoulders and chest, heard a voice echoing in his ears. His entire body moved and the floating sensation disappeared as a hard irregular surface scored along the backs of his legs. He was being dragged. If he could only see… he reached out with one hand, striking a leg. He was lowered to the ground. His wounded back screamed in agony and he bit down on his lower lip, hoping the pain wouldn't signal a rise of the nausea that shadowed him constantly.

"Sorry." Zelenka again.

"Where?" It sucked being blind. He tried not to think about it, or at least tried to be positive that Beckett could do something.

"We have reached land at last." Zelenka sounded fried. "I think we will rest for a few minutes." Sheppard heard the scientist collapse to the ground.

He wasn't going to disagree. He could rest for hours or even days. The scent of wet dirt and vegetation drifted into his nostrils, a heady mixture compared to the sterile environment of Atlantis. No hum of computers, or distant crashing of waves on the city's base, just--

Sheppard froze. Whenever they'd been outside of the compound, they'd heard all sorts of animal life…birds, insects, and lord knows what else. He knew the creature that had howled several times in succession would have freaked out McKay, yet now… insects, some birds. Something wasn't right.

"Zelenka?"

"Yes?"

"Are we out of the water?" That wasn't right. "I mean, are we going through anymore?"

"No, it looks better," said Zelenka. "Remember, the gate was on high ground compared to the path."

High ground? Damn! During a flood, _everything_ went to high ground. He felt his P-90; clicked off the safety. "We have to go."

"What?" Now it was Zelenka's turn to protest. "I have been dragging you since--"

"Now." Sheppard knew he'd snapped the word out in a harsher tone than intended. He rolled over to one side, groaning at the multitude of aches that just had to make themselves known. He managed to get to his hands and knees, but fell when he attempted to stand. Zelenka caught him and held him by his shoulders.

"You must rest, if just for a moment."

"No," insisted Sheppard, hands clenching Zelenka's vest for support. "Have to get to the gate. _Now_."

The last word had been a plea, Zelenka recognized, one bordering almost on desperation. As if to punctuate that request, Sheppard sagged forward, his forehead resting wearily against the scientist's shoulder.

Zelenka hurt. His feet hurt, his back was in misery and his shoulders felt like he'd had a yoke pressing across them for hours on end. He knew the pain was transitory, and that the itch that had been temporarily soothed by the water and mud they'd had to cross was not life-threatening. Sheppard's breathing was becoming labored, and even Zelenka could feel slight tremors shudder through the man's body. The major was moving forward only by sheer will, and even that might be fading.

"We will go now," agreed Zelenka. Sheppard nodded weakly.

If they'd been able-bodied, Sheppard would have been in the lead and they'd have been back at the gate within ten minutes if not less. As it was, it took them nearly half an hour. The storm damage didn't help. Zelenka had to pause several times to clear aside large branches that blocked their path.

Sheppard remained strangely quiet and was tense. He seemed distracted, and Zelenka worried that the next time Sheppard succumbed to unconsciousness, it might be his last.

Another water-soaked patch of large fronds draped down into the path and Zelenka pushed them away, complaining in Czech when one of the serrated edges nearly sliced his finger.

"My god," he muttered, stopping in his tracks. Sheppard lifted his head, his bandaged eyes automatically trying to seek out the source of Zelenka's astonishment.

The Czech blinked again. The gate and DHD were an extremely welcome sight but that was not what had torn the words from his lips. One of the huge trees that bordered the area close to the gate – and that had prevented them from taking a puddle jumper through – had been taken down by the storm. Its sheer volume had caused a domino effect. At least two other huge trees had been broken or uprooted, their massive trunks now reaching out over a hundred feet at horizontal angles into the shattered woods. That must have been the odd crashing noise he'd heard after the tremendous lightning strike. Somewhere in that mess of destruction was the P-MALP, probably squashed flatter than a pancake.

"The gate," he murmured aloud, feeling Sheppard's one hand grip into his shoulder.

"We're there?" Sheppard's voice was nearly a whisper.

"Yes," Zelenka grinned broadly.

"About time," Sheppard sighed. "Dial us out of here."

Within minutes they were at the DHD pedestal. Zelenka was too nervous to continue talking. There were so close to returning home, but he worried that at the last minute, some huge snake would fall out of a tree, or a Wraith dart would show up and suck them up to a hideous death.

As Zelenka punched in the symbols, Sheppard disengaged himself from the scientist. "You're sure the parasites are gone?" Sheppard swayed slightly on his feet, then leaned faintly against the scientist.

"Yes." Zelenka pressed the 'send' button, and the gate's chevrons began to light up. At least he truly hoped so. The force field would be the final test.

"If anything happens to me, you go through the gate. Understood?" Sheppard now had his back to the DHD. Zelenka frowned as he saw the soldier's finger on the P-90's trigger.

"Major?"

"That's an order," came the curt reply.

The vortex flared out, its glowing blue flux never so beautiful as it was at that exact moment. Zelenka was not leaving Sheppard behind, no matter what order was dictated. The only thing that would prevent Sheppard from returning would be the field, and if it came to that – if Zelenka was somehow wrong about the parasites – his hand lightly touched the tiny lumps in his vest pockets that were the morphine ampoules. He truly did not want to think of it.

**PART 47**

Peter Grodin ran both hands down his face, wishing he could wipe away the weariness that he could no longer shake with mere snatches of sleep he'd managed since the crisis had begun, but he was positive he was doing better than McKay. He seriously doubted the astrophysicist had caught even a single wink of shut-eye. Grodin shot a furtive glance at McKay, who was seated only a couple consoles away. He was hunched over, hands against his face. He could be thinking, or sleeping, but most likely he was worrying, and waiting until the MALP was sent through.

Grodin wasn't sure how much more loss Atlantis could sustain. It seemed like only yesterday that he'd been trapped with Dr. Weir and others in the control room, listening to his colleagues die horribly one by one from that alien nanovirus. Perhaps because it was yet again another unseen alien organism that conspired to take away their friends that made the situation so difficult.

He actually missed the lumpy brownies that Dr. DuMais has insisted on baking for Dr. Carlson's birthday. They were pretty bad – not that she wasn't a good cook – but she'd had to make do with some alien ingredients that just didn't turn out quite right.

There were instances like that which he'd remember of those expedition members they'd lost, but sometimes the faces blurred, and the features softened as time passed.

He couldn't conceive of Atlantis without either Radek or Major Sheppard. A deep sigh filtered over from McKay. Neither could he.

* * *

Elizabeth stared at the computer screen as the words blended together, losing their meaning, like ink running down the printed page. She closed down the file. No, she couldn't look at it until … she shook her head, wishing she could erase those morbid thoughts. Glancing at her watch, she realized it would not be long before they sent the MALP through. The waiting was interminable but when the storms cleared and they made contact – and none could be established – she would have to list both men as missing in action, presumed dead. 

The gate's emergency klaxons pierced the glass walls of her office and her eyes immediately shot toward the gate. A chevron lit up. She bolted from her chair, Peter's cry of "incoming wormhole!" barely finished as she rushed to the communications area to stand between Grodin and Rodney.

"Kill those alarms," she ordered.

Security personnel positioned themselves around the base of the large circular gate.

She tapped her earpiece. "Carson, we need a medical team up here now." Turning to Peter, she added. "On the speaker."

Silently, she prayed for good news. No other teams were out. This had to be Zelenka. One of them still had to be alive.

The gate snapped into existence, but before she could speak, an accented voice echoed over the speakers. _"—is this way. Rodney said you had no sense of direction."_

"Radek," Rodney hissed under his breath, hope springing to his eyes.

Another voice, dimmed by distance and fatigue, echoed. _"Rodney talks too much."_

"Major!" Rodney stood up, wincing as he bashed his knee into the underside of the console.

_"Rodney?"_ Zelenka sounded confused. _"Atlantis! We are coming home. We found a cure."_

"Thank god," Elizabeth whispered under her breath, clutching her arms to her chest, then nodded to Peter. "Lower the shields."

"Cure?" repeated Rodney slowly. He looked too shocked for his mind to comprehend the good news.

_"Yes, yes, we'll explain when we come home,"_ responded Zelenka. _"What?"_

"What what?" said Rodney.

_"Sssh,"_ came Sheppard's voice. _"Don't move." _

_"Major?"_

_"Shut up!"_ he hissed.

McKay shot a worried glance at Weir. "What the hell is going on?"

Elizabeth shook her head, just as confused at the sudden turn of events.

"Major, doctor—" she began, but Zelenka's voice cut her off. _"What is—?"_

"Go." Sheppard's voice was loaded with urgency. _"NOW!"_

A yell… followed by the loud retort of P-90 gunfire blasting over the speakers. Weir took a step back in shock and then instinctively ducked when several bullets came through the event horizon, ricocheting off the gateroom's high ceiling.

"Oh my god," she choked out.

**PART 48**

Zelenka sat up in a flash, his mind still reeling from the unexpected attack. He quickly patted down his body, horrified that he might find a tattooing of bullet holes, but fortunately the major had missed him.

The terrifying vision of that huge cat erupting from the dense foliage by the gate had shocked him, but not as much as Sheppard – who had clearly been aware that the predator had been stalking them but hadn't thought to mention that fact to him. Sheppard had just yelled, knocking him back as he brought up the P-90 and fired it in a wide arc just as the cat lunged and—

Gunfire, a scream – his own, he realized – and the burst of that awful force field.

Zelenka turned quickly, wincing as another muscle in his sore back protested the sharp movement. Sheppard lay sprawled out on the stones just a few feet away. Oh no.

A rapid check allayed Zelenka's fears that the major was dead. Sheppard was just stunned or knocked out from the blow. It didn't matter, Zelenka realized. He was still breathing, but blood streamed from his nose. The black tactical vest showed several large, ragged tears where the cat's claws had struck the major high on the chest. Zelenka let out a sigh of relief when he found that the skin beneath the cloth had been spared being torn by the animal.

Zelenka immediately tapped at his earpiece, startled to find it gone. It must have fallen off when he'd been knocked over. It didn't matter. He'd just drag the major through the horizon.

Just as he reached down to Sheppard's prone form, disaster struck.

The gate shut down.

An ominous growl pierced the air.

Looking past the major's feet, Zelenka gulped in horror through his skewed glasses as his eyes met the dangerous, glittering orbs of one extremely angry cat that was bleeding from several ragged bullet wounds across its shoulder. The massive feline hissed and then began to head toward the two men.

* * *

"Dial them back!" ordered Elizabeth. 

Peter Grodin began punching in the symbols for the planet. Rodney sat glued to his chair at the communications post, staring in undisguised anxiety at the gate.

Elizabeth clenched her fists together. This couldn't be happening. They'd been right at the gate and Zelenka said they'd found a cure so both men could return home. Gunfire meant only one thing – an attack. Wraith? Wild animals? Or had the cure been tenuous at best, and had Sheppard succumbed to the insanity that had claimed some of the Ancients' expedition?

She watched as the symbols began locking in on the massive circle below. It was too slow, way too slow.

* * *

"No-no-NO!" Zelenka uttered in complete panic. "Major, let go of the gun!" 

Sheppard was barely conscious, but he had a steadfast grip on the P-90 that was still clipped to his tactical vest. It would be a death grip if that cat got to them! The animal's angry roar filled the air, startling a group of brightly colored birds out of the treetops above.

"No. Move," moaned Sheppard, his grip increasing on the weapon.

What a lousy time for the major to decide to save them both!

Zelenka abandoned his effort to retrieve the more powerful gun and instead pulled his .9mm out of his holster. The cat paused in its tracks and bared its large white incisors at him, eerily confident that its teeth were more than a match for a mere bullet. Zelenka took aim at the cat's skull, his vision blurring momentarily as a bead of sweat ran into one eye. What if he missed? What if the bullet bounced off the skull? A veterinarian friend once told him cats had incredibly strong skulls. What if one bullet wasn't enough? The major had already shot the beast several times and still it could get to its feet.

He aimed the gun again, praying that it would work.

A brilliant flash of red blinded him for a brief moment. He staggered back, blinking but aiming the gun haphazardly across the gate's base with shaky hands.

The cat lay several feet away, on its side, stunned and panting heavily. Zelenka stared at the animal, realization dawning. The parasite must be in the animals as well. This meant that the cat would not be able to reach them. The force field had repelled it. They were safe. He reholstered the gun and returned to Sheppard, shaking him gently by the shoulders. When he awoke, the major could shoot the cat – which seemed the humane thing to do as it was already grievously injured – and then they could dial back home.

The gate began to activate.

Zelenka looked up in horror as the blue symbol almost directly above him illuminated. "No."

Zelenka looked down at the base of the gate. The cat was already back on its feet and it was in full pissed-off mode, growling and hissing.

It was then that he realized that the DHD was on the wrong side of the force field - the side that the cat was impatiently beginning to pace back and forth along.

Another symbol lit up. They had just seconds until they were disintegrated into atoms.

Zelenka immediately grabbed Sheppard and dragged him out of the path of the gate's soon-to-arrive vortex, but he couldn't move him far, not with the force field parameters restricting their movement. If even a sleeve poked past that field, the cat could yank him away. Worse, the animal seemed to understand that too, and it prowled close to the edge, studying Sheppard as if he were a morsel to be devoured.

A wisp of hysterical laughter escaped from Zelenka's lips as it came to him that he'd been right; Sheppard was free of the parasite, but now the gate might end up being their demise!

Another symbol locked in.

Zelenka locked eyes with the cat, just a yard away, and realized with startling clarity that there was another option. He stood up, drawing the cat's attention away from Sheppard's prone form, and ran directly in front of the Stargate.

* * *

Elizabeth let out a breath of relief as the gate's final symbol locked down and the event horizon stabilized. "Rodney, the MALP?" She looked over at the scientist, who nodded grimly. "In just a minute," he replied darkly. She acknowledged his words with a slight tilt of the head as she pursed her lips tightly together before speaking into the radio. "Dr. Zelenka, Major Sheppard? Please respond. What is happening?" 

Silence greeted her ears, eating away at her hopes like fire devouring a sheet of paper. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rodney drop his head in despair over the fate of his friends.

**PART 49**

Zelenka removed his arms from where he'd placed them over his head in a protective manner, very much like in those 'duck and cover' nuclear bomb instructional movies from the 1950s. The whoosh of the gate's destructive flux seemed deafening at such close quarters, or maybe that noise was just the pounding of his own heart beating furiously within his chest.

He rose out of the crouch he'd tucked himself into, then glanced across the stones to the other side of the gate. Sheppard remained motionless where he'd been left. A more panicked survey of the gate area indicated that the cat remained, or rather, its remains could be seen. A long furry orange-red tail lay on the ground, just out of reach of the gate's vortex. In front of it, placed in almost perfect proximity, were two hind feet. Well, the paws really.

Zelenka smiled in deep satisfaction for the first time in several days. He knew that Newton's third law would not fail him. He scratched at his side again. He could not wait to see Beckett, even if meant needles! He cocked his head. A strange tinny noise, like some robotic insect, was emanating from the ground in front of the gate. He crawled over to the area, searching carefully through the stones and weeds. "Ah ha!" he cried, pulling up his missing earpiece. Weir's anxious voice was repeating like a distress beacon.

"We are all right," he replied, not letting Weir finish. "Please shut the gate down so we can dial out. Have Beckett waiting."

Weir began asking questions but Zelenka cut her off again. He felt bad about doing that but his desperation to get home overrode his natural politeness. "Please, shut the gate down." A moment later, the event horizon disappeared. Zelenka knelt down next to Sheppard, who was slowly regaining his wits. "…get it?" he asked hazily.

"Yes, major, you got the cat," Zelenka smiled.

"Go." Sheppard waved a bloody hand weakly in the direction of the gate.

"We will," Zelenka placed his hand in a reassuring gesture on the major's shoulder. "We go together."

Sheppard lolled his head to the side. Zelenka could tell that the man was fading back to unconsciousness. "We?"

"Yes, you are on the other side of the force field," replied Zelenka. "The parasites are gone."

"Cool."

"Exactly," agreed Zelenka. As he stood to go back to the DHD, a hand brushed against his leg. He knelt back down, concerned. "Major?"

"Do I smell barbecue?" asked Sheppard.

Zelenka arched an eyebrow as he studied the wisps of smoke still trailing from the smoldering fur of the cat's feet. "I'm afraid it's over," Zelenka said with regret.

"--'s okay," murmured Sheppard. "Not hungry anyway."

**PART 50**

A sharp pain had stabbed Zelenka in his lower back just seconds after he'd dragged Sheppard back through the gate. He collapsed to the hard floor, unable to stop himself from gasping upon impact. The major's body landed across his ankles, pinning the scientist to the floor.

He was only peripherally aware of the shouts and sounds of running feet headed in his direction. Instead, he checked Sheppard's pulse again, worrying that all the suffering might have been in vain. Thank God. Still alive. Zelenka bowed his head, the accumulated stress of the past few days beginning to hit him. He abruptly realized just how awful he and the major must look. Torn uniforms, dirt and other gunk adhered to their bodies from their hellish trip back to the gate. Blood. The P-90 must have struck Sheppard in the face when the cat attacked him. The bandages covering the major's eyes were what caused a twisted pain in his gut. Would Sheppard survive this ordeal, only to be blind?

He sensed a presence at his side, caught the flash of blue. It was Beckett, clad in one of the too familiar HazMat suits, but without a helmet. There was no indication that that parasite exhibited any airborne qualities but they still needed to play it safe.

"I will be fine." Zelenka scratched furiously at one side, wincing as the new pain flared up in his back. "Please, the major."

Beckett had already turned his attention to Sheppard, barking orders to the rest of the blue-suited team. Sheppard was carefully placed on a waiting gurney and Zelenka found himself lifted and placed on another gurney. Within seconds, they were being whisked out of the gateroom.

He heard Rodney arguing vehemently with Beckett, but the physician won out. Zelenka caught a glimpse of Dr. Weir and Rodney standing back, reluctantly obeying Beckett's concerns about 'possible contamination.' Zelenka wasn't sure what to do except offer a quick grin and a thumbs-up gesture to let them know he would be all right, just like they did in the movies. It was inane. Both Weir and Rodney responded with brief and tenuous smiles, although Zelenka knew it would take a lot more to reassure Rodney of both his and the major's well-being than that simple gesture.

Atlantis' ceilings were boring. He had a rapid view of that aspect of the city as they headed toward the infirmary. It was far preferable to the overly concerned looks the medical personnel on either side of the gurney were giving him, and the questions they kept asking him all sorts of questions about how he felt and what had happened. He felt like an insect about to be pinned to a collector's board, or worse.

Beckett's people were ready for them. Although his gurney was only seconds behind Sheppard's, by the time he was wheeled into the infirmary, a team had already transferred the unconscious man to a bed. They were cutting off his bedraggled uniform at a speed that put to shame an over-eager child ripping apart presents on Christmas morning.

Zelenka found himself transferred to a bed not far away from Sheppard. He swatted away someone's attempt to start removing his clothing. He had to see what was happening with the major!

A second later, he got his wish. The medical personnel around him parted as Beckett came over. Zelenka heard the last of Sheppard's uniform hit the floor, then the brief flutter of a sheet as it was laid down across Sheppard's naked form. EEG leads were being attached to his too-pale chest and someone was prepping his arm for an I.V.

Beckett blocked his view, and another doctor, someone he didn't recognize, tall, with thinning blond hair and a pointed nose, stood next to him. "Radek, you're a sight," grinned Beckett.

"The major? Will he be all right?" Zelenka didn't like that he sounded almost panicked, but he didn't care at this point.

"We need to know everything possible about Major Sheppard's condition. What can you tell us?" asked Beckett.

How could he condense days' worth of symptoms and horror just like that? Zelenka drew a steadying breath, forced himself to go into scientist mode, rambling off as best as he could recollect precisely how the major's condition had escalated and then deteriorated. And then he got to the injection, the vomiting and, worse, the eye drops, offering his theory to the two men who listened intently to him.

"It is the only logical explanation," continued Zelenka fervently. He'd had hours to think about back on the planet. "I had the pink eye. Lieutenant Ford and Teyla both had the pink eye. The major did not. The drops must be lethal to the parasite."

Stanson, the sharp-nosed doctor, studied the tiny bottle that Zelenka had withdrawn from his vest. "But you all finished your regimen right before you went to that planet. You couldn't have sustained a buildup of--"

"I used the drops several times on the planet," admitted Zelenka with a guilty expression. "Each day, in fact. My eyes felt gritty and I did not wish to risk a reoccurrence of the pink eye."

Beckett shook his head briefly in disdain, but no doubt he was used to having patients disobey instructions. "And so you kept the drug in your system."

"You think the eye drops killed the parasites?" Stanson looked skeptical. "A few drops--"

"The major did not measure it out in drops," interjected Zelenka darkly. "He was desperate. He poured them in. His reaction was … bad." Zelenka shuddered briefly as the horrible memory of Sheppard's screams - and his almost successful attempt to tear out his eyes - came to the forefront of his memory. He felt a gloved hand steady him on his shoulder. "It was then that he sustained the head injury," continued Zelenka. "He was unconscious for over an hour, but when he came to, the itch had dissipated, but he was sicker than after the injection. The scanner showed a rapid decline of the parasite population, then eventually, they were gone."

Stanson pulled away as a nurse came up to him with some equipment, which Zelenka recognized. He was the base's resident ophthalmologist, or at least the expert. Both he and the nurse melded into the personnel still working on Sheppard. Zelenka heard the metallic sound of scissors being picked off a tray. Not once had he peeked under the bandages, even after they'd been soaked by the flood water, for fear of what pain he might cause the major, and the overwhelming anxiety that what he might uncover would be too much to bear.

"How sick did the major become after the injection?" Beckett asked. Zelenka responded, realizing as he explained the constant nausea, the cramps, tingling, increasing weakness and bouts of unconsciousness, that it all might be much more serious than he had envisioned. He tried to describe Sheppard's concern over his heart rate - the proper word escaped him so he had to quickly tap his fingers over his own heart - "arrhythmia," said Beckett. The physician's blue eyes seemed to darken like a storm cloud and he called over a young woman. "I want a serum potassium level on Major Sheppard yesterday. Run BUN and creatinine, glucose, magnesium and calcium, a full CMP, a CBC, and an ABG." She nodded efficiently and departed.

"Will Major Sheppard survive?"

"The major's a fighter," responded Beckett. "If I have anything to say about it, he'll be complaining about the choice of Jell-O in a few days."

"You may wish to see the scanner." Zelenka reached for it, but panic consumed him when he discovered that it and his vest were gone. "My vest. I had it. Where is it!" A nurse's hand extended from the side and the damp vest was suddenly in his lap. Was he so exhausted that he hadn't realized that people were undressing him as he sat? He noticed his shoes and socks were gone, but he shook his head, digging into the pockets, dumping out items he didn't need. A syringe hit the floor, then he dumped out the morphine. He caught Beckett's dark glance but ignored it, finding the triangular scanner. He withdrew it from the bag, touching his finger to the indentations. Beckett watched as the blue outline of a human body formed on the small screen. "Red dots indicated the parasites. They faded, then vanished as the parasites died." Zelenka looked up at Beckett, who offered a reassuring smile. "Can you get this to Rodney? Perhaps there is a backup, and we can follow the progression? Oh!" He frantically searched his pockets, pulling out the other baggie. The smaller rectangular device. "Rodney should have this, too. It could hold much information."

Beckett took both devices, but froze as Zelenka finished. "I found that one with the body."

"Body?" Beckett looked stricken. Zelenka noticed a level of silence envelope the room and that people were looking at him.

"Not really a body. The skeleton, in the small room we discovered by accident." Zelenka frowned because Beckett seemed speechless. "It was a skeleton. It practically crumbled to dust when the major fell on it."

"You had contact with it?" Beckett almost choked.

Zelenka had no idea why Beckett was acting so perturbed. "Surely there is no worry about disease after what has probably been centuries?" Zelenka shook his head, then knocked a fist against one side of his head. Ah, finally: the water flowed of that ear. "We spent nearly an hour in swamp water and probably swallowed half of it. I'd be more worried about that."

"Could he have gotten any of the water in his lungs?" Beckett asked quickly.

Zelenka considered it. "Perhaps?"

"Bloody hell."

**PART 51**

"And so help me, if Rodney tries to step one foot in here, I will stab him with the biggest needle we have and keep him sedated for a week and let the nurses practice sponge baths on him," Beckett had warned over the speaker.

Luckily, that threat had been transmitted on Elizabeth's office speaker, and not all over the communications area. Rodney had heard it all, of course, since he was right there, and at first he'd looked mortified, then angered, but the threat had deflated his determined idea of hobbling down to the infirmary to check on his friends.

The communications staff were all back at their stations now, quietly speculating amongst themselves just what happened on the planet and if the two men would recover from their injuries. Only a skeleton staff had remained at their posts when the men came through the gate – a precaution against contagion. A crew had just finished 'sanitizing' the floor in front of the gate. The air reeked faintly of bleach or something similar. Couldn't be too careful with parasites, she'd been told.

Elizabeth quietly entered Rodney's lab. Denied access to the infirmary, feeling utterly useless in the communications area, the scientist had retreated to the place he felt most secure. She'd told him to get some sleep, but then Beckett had passed along that little Ancient bit of technology Dr. Zelenka had discovered, and any thoughts of sleep had flown out the window for Rodney. She'd been tempted to take it away, and force him to sleep, but knew that wouldn't work, especially if there was something useful on the device.

A heartfelt smile touched Weir's lips. Rodney was seated on his stool in front of the computer. His head lay atop his folded arms, which rested on the counter. Finally, he was getting some sleep.

"Not asleep," he murmured, as if he could read her mind. He raised his head. His eyes had that owlish look of someone who desperately needed rest but refused to get it. He fixed his stare on her, then alarm strained his features. "What? Did something happen? Are they-?"

"They're fine," she interrupted quickly, hoping those words were true.

Rodney glanced at his watch. "It's been hours!"

And Elizabeth knew that Rodney no doubt had it down to the second. "Carson said he'd let us know."

Rodney assumed a sour expression. "No news is good news."

"Yes," she nodded.

He fixed his surly stare on the computer monitor. "The encryption on this one is worse than the files Radek sent back to us. Maybe paranoia was one of the late symptoms."

She wished that Rodney would focus on the positive side of the situation. God knew it was nearly impossible to rid herself of the vision of what Sheppard and Zelenka had looked like upon their return. Even from a distance – as Beckett's team had kept everyone away – the poor scientist had looked awful. Half his face was covered in huge red splotches. Beckett had quarantined the two men after seeing that condition, not that he hadn't planned on that course of action already. And Sheppard had … she shuddered when she thought back. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Elizabeth had feared that Dr. Zelenka had merely dragged the major's corpse back home through the event horizon.

When she'd told Lieutenant Ford and Teyla the good news, they'd practically jumped for joy, despite the fact that Beckett still had no news on their condition. Even Halling and his people, who were still talking with Teyla, were thrilled to hear of the two men's return.

"Beckett's got state of the art equipment, even Ancient contraptions!" Rodney stabbed a few fingers deliberately at the keyboard. "You would think—"

"Wait." Elizabeth tapped her earpiece. "Carson?"

Rodney sat up straight on the stool like a trained dog. He tapped his earpiece as well. "Carson, are they all right?"

_"Ach, good. I've got the two of you,"_ came Beckett's strong brogue. Evidence that he was dead tired as well. _"Condensing it in a nutshell, the both of 'em should be right as rain in a matter of time." _

Elizabeth smiled, but noticed that anxiety still hovered palpably over the scientist.

"The major's eyes?" broached Rodney.

Even Elizabeth worried about that. Seeing that bloody bandage wrapped around Sheppard's head had scared her. If he were blind… she didn't want to think of the psychological repercussions. Sheppard lived to fly. He couldn't fly if he was blind.

_"Still there,"_ assured Beckett. _"He had a reaction, probably to both the parasites and the cure."_

"Thank god the Ancients didn't destroy everything there," said Elizabeth.

_"The cure wasn't from the Ancients," _countered Beckett. _"Dr. Zelenka had it on him all the time."_

Rodney frowned. "What do you mean?"

_"Dr. Zelenka's theory, which is about as good as we can devise since we can't experiment with the little buggers, is that the eye drops killed them."_

"Eye drops?" Rodney was confused.

_"The ones you avoided having to take because you locked up your lab as tight as a castle about to be stormed by Wallace," _said Beckett dryly.

"How do eye drops for pink eye kill parasites?" wondered Elizabeth.

_"I'll let Dr. Branford fill you in on the details, but antibiotics can be lethal to parasites. We use them all the time on earth to combat malaria and such," _answered Beckett. _"Quite honestly, it could have been a combination of the injection the major took and the eye drops, but the fact that both Lieutenant Ford and Teyla are still exhibiting no signs of infection seem to be empirical proof of Dr. Zelenka's theory." _

"So Lieutenant Ford and Teyla can be released?"

_"We're just going to double-check on our findings," _replied Beckett. _"But yes, they should be set free tomorrow."_

"You make it sound like you're releasing animals back to the wild," said Rodney somewhat sarcastically.

_"I can't say either one are happy about being stuck in isolation," said Beckett in a weary undertone. "Especially with all the blood samples we've had to take." _He coughed. _"Major Sheppard is going to be our guest for several days. He had a concussion, dehydration, hyperkalemia and some pretty nasty scratches, but we've run every test we can and he is parasite free."_

"Hyper-what?" asked Elizabeth.

_"Hyperkalemia," _repeated Beckett. _"That's excess potassium in his body. From what we've been able to determine, the rapid destruction of the parasites from the antibiotics caused cell membrance lysis. In simple English, it caused potassium to flush from his cells to where it shouldn't be. We're correcting that with I.V. solutions as well as flushing his system, and it fortunately it appears we caught it in time before any deleterious cardiac or respiratory effects could occur. And luckily, he didn't inhale any water so his lungs are clear. A case of pneumonia on top of what he already would be bad."_

Elizabeth looked at McKay, who looked both confused and appalled at the lengthy explanation.

Beckett continued. _"Dr. Zelenka never even had the parasites, apparently, but he does have a few pulled muscles in his back."_

"But?" sputtered Rodney. "Radek looked awful. What's wrong with him?"

_"Worst case of systemic toxciodendron that I've ever seen, not that I've seen a lot, mind you."_

"Oh god, what is that?" Rodney looked ready to keel over.

"_Poison ivy,"_ said Beckett. Elizabeth could have sworn she heard a smile behind that reply as he gave the layman's term, but even those two words made the astrophysicist visibly cringe. Seeing as how Rodney had so many allergies, poison ivy was probably one of them. _"He looks pretty nasty,"_ continued Beckett. _"And the vesicles are beginning to erupt, but it's not lethal, just painful. No wonder the poor man thought he had the parasite."_

"When can we see them?" asked Elizabeth.

_"If all goes well, you can drop by tomorrow."_

"Tomorrow!" burst out Rodney.

_"Yes, tomorrow, the day after today, and I don't mean midnight,"_ said Beckett sarcastically. _"And that's just for a brief visit after nine in the morning. We're still treating them. I have no doubt that the major will still be unconscious after all he went through. From what I can gather from Radek, neither man managed barely a wink of sleep on that planet and they're utterly exhausted."_

"Understood," acknowledged Elizabeth.

_"And you," _Beckett warned._ "That means you, Rodney. If you want visiting privileges tomorrow, I want to see you well rested with at least eight hours of sleep."_

"I have work to do," argued Rodney, rubbing a hand over bleary eyes. "I need to analyze the data that Radek—"

"_Rodney, make a choice,"_ offered Beckett abruptly. _"Analyze centuries-old data that in all likelihood isn't going to change a damned thing here, or visit the major and Radek tomorrow. Choose."_

McKay sputtered helplessly as he looked longingly at the computer monitor.

_"I'll make sure he gets to his room," _Elizabeth smiled.

Just as McKay grabbed his crutches, two figures appeared at the entrance to the lab.

"Sergeant Carstairs, Dr. Rydell," said Elizabeth. "Can we help you?"

"I'm here to watch the computer," said Rydell, scratching at his mop of dark hair.

Rodney suddenly looked livid and he gawked at Carstairs. "Carson, you sent an armed guard to take me to my room!"

_"Of course not, laddie," _Beckett's grin easily translated over the radio. _"He's there to make sure you stay put in your room. I know you'll try to sneak out in the middle of the night to check on your data, and quite frankly, I have two patients too many as it is."_

Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh when McKay muttered some not very friendly words under his breath as he quickly typed something into his computer before he hobbled out of the lab, followed by a grinning Carstairs, who'd brought along a book to while away the time.

* * *

_NEXT: DAY FIVE!_


	5. DAY FIVE

TITLE: **I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
WARNINGS: Violence, language, icky gross critters and some swearing.  
See DAY ONE for disclaimers, copyright and other notes.

* * *

**DAY FIVE**

**PART 52**

Everything was black, but surprisingly, not cold. For some reason, he'd come to associate black with freezing places. The pain that had assailed him for so long, that had made him want to curl into a ball and die, was now muted. Dulled and numb. It was difficult to think past the haze, but soon he recognized its familiar origin. He'd been drugged. Not the bad kind though. His senses filtered in bits and pieces… smells, antiseptic and bed linens… crisp, measured voices of people around him. The infirmary… a Scottish accent, the words at times, indistinct. Beckett. Atlantis. Home.

He'd been at the gate. That tabby cat from hell had attacked and… a blur, just a blur. A surge of worry enveloped him. Where was Zelenka?

* * *

Beckett turned over on the hospital bed and his eyes immediately snapped open. Years of hideously long hours doing internship and residency had attuned his body to sleep here and sleep there, but most importantly, he could zero in on important sounds. 

The beeping from Sheppard's heart monitor had increased.

Beckett rapidly clambered off the bed, but when he looked across the room at his patient, he realized he didn't have to rush. A nurse was already at Sheppard's side and, oddly enough, so was Dr. Zelenka, who stood on the other side of the bed, clad in one of those god-awful hospital gowns, talking quietly to Sheppard.

"Radek," said Beckett as he checked the monitors for himself, satisfied at what he saw, and then conversed quietly with the nurse. "You should be back in bed."

"The major awoke. Hmm… _soumark_…" he said softly. Beckett realized he was searching for the English translation. "Not quite awake, a twilight sleep. Yes?"

Beckett nodded. He noticed Zelenka had a hand resting gently on Sheppard's uninjured arm. On a subconscious level, the major would no doubt sense it and relax.

"He is probably not aware of where he is," assumed Zelenka. He scratched at his neck. Beckett resisted the urge to stop him. The poison ivy had spread over half his torso, neck and face, with splotches on both arms and hands. One eye had swollen shut but was looking a wee bit better after the prednisone shot.

"He was more concerned that I got through the gate than himself," continued Zelenka quietly. "Nor did he mention that the cat was stalking us."

Beckett wasn't sure what to say. "Perhaps he didn't want to worry you."

The scientist muttered something in Czech, then released a small sigh. "When he is well enough, let me know, so I can yell at him for that foolishness. It was not as though I did not drag him across a swamp."

"Don't worry. He'll thank you when he's awake," Beckett smiled. That was one thing that always impressed him about Sheppard: the man never failed to express his gratitude to those who deserved it. "Back to sleep with you then." Beckett gently steered the man toward the bed.

"Sleep. I wish." Zelenka eased himself very carefully under the covers, suppressing a hiss of pain at his pulled muscles. However, that didn't stop him from scratching at himself again. "Now I know why the major was so irritable. I should not have yelled at him. The itch is infuriating."

"I'm sorry we can't you give you another prednisone shot, at least not for a few more hours." Beckett felt bad. He knew how much Zelenka detested needles, but suggested anyway. "I could give you something to help you sleep."

Zelenka's brow furrowed. "A pill?"

"An injection would work better," replied Beckett almost apologetically.

The scientist cringed, but held out both arms. "Take your pick."

PART 53

Sergeant Carstairs flipped the dog-eared page, chortling quietly to himself as read the continuation of the long-winded paragraph. He couldn't believe that anybody actually wrote this garbage, let alone paid good money for it, but the awful paperback was in its astounding eighth printing, if the inside cover page was correct.

A noise emanated from inside McKay's quarters. Carstairs stared at his watch. 2:10 a.m. Blast it.

The door swished open and there stood McKay. The man hadn't even changed clothes! He looked like shit, which meant he probably hadn't slept at all. Beckett should have just come by and jabbed a needle in the astrophysicist's butt and knocked him out. Carstairs sighed inwardly: he wouldn't be out the $20 he'd bet with Corporal Williams if McKay had just stayed put. He'd been sure McKay would last till 4:00 a.m. before trying to sneak out.

"I need to see Beckett now," McKay said sharply.

Lack of sleep did nothing for the man's manners either. "Why?" Carstairs hadn't changed his position, seated in a chair, one leg crossed over the other leg's knee.

"Because—" McKay's blue eyes hardened to a glacial blue when he realized the soldier wasn't giving his predicament the attention he felt it deserved. He snatched the paperback out of the soldier's hands like a hawk ripping its prey off the ground.

"What is this?" McKay turned the book over to gawk at the blurb on the well-worn backside. "Can Tyler, the randy Texas Ranger, ever conquer Missy, the nubile cowgirl— what the hell kind of trash is this?" He tossed the book back at Carstairs, who caught it expertly, thumbed to the page he'd been at, and marked it. He stood up.

"Someone's idea of a joke," replied Carstairs with a yawn. "It was used as packing in some of the crates." He coughed. "Again, why do you need to see Dr. Beckett? Are you ill?"

"No, but I cracked the file." Carstairs peered around the scientist and saw that yup, the man had a computer in his quarters. They should have removed it. No wonder the man had so complacently left his lab and workstation – he'd had a backup. "It's imperative that I talk to Beckett. Lives are at stake!"

And Carstairs knew which lives – Major Sheppard and Dr. Zelenka. But he also knew that both men were still doing fine, considering the hell they'd been through. Beckett's people funneled him information just in case this particular situation arose.

"Just don't stand there like some old Commodore 640," snapped McKay impatiently. "Get out of my way, or I'll do it for you."

The soldier towered over the Canadian by a good three inches, and had at least 20 additional pounds, all of which were solid muscle, so the scientist's theatrical threat was meaningless if not downright amusing.

Carstairs lazily tapped on his earpiece. "Dr. McKay would like to come down. He says he has vital information regarding the two patients." He noticed McKay's eyes narrow in contempt at the use of the impersonal term. He'd been just as worried as everybody else until the major and Zelenka came back, but he knew why McKay was so agitated. Somehow, and nobody could really explain, McKay and Sheppard had become fast friends. The scientist probably knew more about the major than anybody under Sheppard's command. Weird. "Yes, sir." Beckett's annoyed voice echoed loudly in his ear. "I'll let him know, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Well?" McKay was fuming at the delay.

"You can go if you agree to Dr. Beckett's terms."

"Anything. Fine! Let's go!" McKay negotiated his crutches around the sergeant's bulk.

"He agrees, doctor." Carstairs smiled. "Out."

The sergeant could have mentioned to McKay that if he'd just turned left, he'd be at a transporter, but apparently the scientist wasn't operating on all cylinders. Lack of sleep did more than melt down the man's tenuous manners. It made him forget the layout of the base.

**PART 54**

Beckett thanked the sergeant and the door shut behind the soldier. McKay instantly made a beeline for Sheppard and Zelenka and stood between the two beds, obviously torn up with worry.

McKay turned on his crutches. "Carson, you have to read that file I sent you – NOW."

"In a minute, Rodney. Just follow me over here," said Beckett calmly. "And don't bother either one of them."

"No, _now_," insisted McKay. "That file is a detailed log of how the last expedition member died; probably the one that the major called hologram-man. He found the cure but he _died_ because of what the parasites did and Sheppard could be in the same situation."

Beckett arched a weary eyebrow as McKay's voice raised a pitch and sped up almost frenetically as he tried to impart an entire file's worth of information into 30 seconds of speech. If McKay had been a balloon, he'd have swelled up and popped rather dramatically. Sighing, Beckett grabbed McKay by an ear and pulled.

"Ow!" screeched McKay.

"Rodney, get over here." Beckett ordered and the scientist couldn't resist, not unless he wanted to lose that ear. McKay was steered toward a bed and sat down on it. Another sign that the man had overdone it. He had a walking cast and was using crutches.

"Rodney, we've run every conceivable test on both the major and Dr. Zelenka," Beckett said, raising his finger up sternly to silence McKay. "Both of them should recover just fine in due time." His voice softened measurably. "And yes, we discovered the side effect of the parasite infestation very early on, thanks to Dr. Zelenka's astute observations, and we're correcting it via I.V. solutions, as I recall mentioning earlier." He'd also read the file the moment Rodney had sent it down via the computer. He wouldn't pass up any additional information that might help. "I assume that's why you, er broke curfew?"

McKay didn't reply. His brain seemed to be processing the data, and at a slower rate, the second sign that he was far too long without proper rest.

Nurse Hennings suddenly appeared beside McKay, who nearly jumped off the bed as he hadn't noticed her advancing on him. She handed a syringe over to Beckett.

"What's that?" McKay eyed the item with both dread and disdain.

"Vitamin B shot. You've run yourself ragged since this all began. Don't even try to lie to me that you've been eating properly, what with you being glued to computers for hours on end." Hennings swabbed McKay's upper arm and Beckett jabbed him before he could lodge a protest. A moment later, another syringe found its target as well.

"And that one?" McKay rubbed at the two new sore spots.

"Sedative."

"WHAT!"

"Part of the conditions for coming here. Didn't Sergeant Carstairs tell you?" said Beckett innocently.

"NO!"

"Ach, wait. I didn't tell him." Beckett assumed a slightly guilty smile.

McKay's eyelids began droop. "I'm going to tell Elizabeth what you did. What kind of doctor are you?" he accused.

"The kind who obeys orders."

McKay gawked at him in hazy confusion. "Orders?" he slurred.

"Who do you think told me to sedate you if you persisted in this foolhardy endeavor?" said Beckett.

**PART 55**

Elizabeth had rolled over in bed, pushed aside her bedraggled hair, and rubbed at her weary eyes. She smacked one hand down on the tiny alarm that had been beeping away on the table next to her bed. She never used an alarm clock as her body's own internal alarm woke up her consistently and had done so for decades, but the past few days had been extremely trying.

She stared at the ceiling, watching the morning sun filter languidly into the room. She mused that how over the course of her career, she'd brokered agreements that could literally affect the lives of millions, yet had never felt as drained as she did now. She knew it was because the lives which had hung in the balance weren't just faceless statistics, but men she'd come to regard as friends, even as family.

She took a long hot shower, finished off with a short burst of cold water, lest she succumb to the hot water's lulling effects. After dressing, she checked in with Peter Grodin, who informed her of Rodney's late night 'jailbreak'. She decided to skip breakfast and go to the infirmary first, knowing that Beckett would probably limit visitations to everyone until the two men were better able to withstand all the well wishers and curiosity seekers.

In walking down a corridor, she noticed that people she passed seemed happier, or at least didn't look as serious as they had during the past few days. Word had spread fast. As she entered the infirmary, she noticed it still had the hand-written sign – _Do Not Enter – Quarantine _– still taped to the door.

"Elizabeth." Beckett greeted her. He just happened to be in that area of the infirmary when she'd entered. He looked much better than the day before, although some of the darkness under his eyes still remained, but the brightness was back in those blue eyes, and there was more of a bounce in his step.

"Carson," she smiled, then looked past him. "I see you let Lieutenant. Ford and Teyla out of quarantine."

"Aye, a couple hours ago," acknowledged Beckett with a grin. "The major's still unconscious, probably will be for a while but we're not worried as he's responding well to treatment. However, I thought that Dr. Zelenka could use some company, and the lieutenant and Teyla certainly needed it." He nodded in that direction, where both Teyla and Ford were standing on one side of Zelenka's bed, not far from Sheppard.

As Beckett continued talking, Elizabeth found herself gravitating to the major's bed first. She reached down and gently laid a hand on his uninjured arm. It felt good to have undeniable proof that he was still there. Somehow, just seeing him wasn't enough. He'd been cleaned up considerably since she'd seen him dragged through the gate like some war casualty, and the filthy bandages around his eyes had been replaced with new, sterile white ones. Worry still nibbled at her mind. Beckett had told her that it was the tissues around the eyes that were inflamed, and not the eye itself – and that preliminary examinations showed no damage. But still, she wouldn't be 100 certain of that diagnosis until she saw Sheppard seeing again.

She cocked her head slightly across the room, at the bed with the sleeping figure on it. "I'm surprised Rodney isn't awake."

"Oh, the sedative will wear off soon enough," replied Beckett happily.

"Sedative?"

"Yes, the one you said I should give him. I—"

"Carson, I wasn't serious."

Beckett frowned. "You sounded very serious last night, and besides, it was something I was entertaining anyway. Rodney's like a terrier with a bone when it comes to Ancient technology and when he came here at two a.m., I knew he was not going to get to sleep on his own."

"In that case, no harm done," said Elizabeth. He was probably right.

"However, when he wakes up, you tell him that." Beckett looked a bit uneasy. "He'll forgive you for this transgression much easier than he would me."

Elizabeth smiled. "Of course." She leaned down toward the bed, then quietly said, "It's good to have you back, John," before removing her hand.

A moment later, she joined tiny crowd around the scientist's bed. "Dr. Zelenka," she nodded. "How are you?"

"Dr. Weir," he smiled back. He frowned, then scratched at a rather large, nasty red patch on his arm. "I am better."

"You shouldn't be doing that," cautioned Beckett.

"Well, if your shots and salves would work," Zelenka complained, but only half-heartedly.

The poor Czech looked awful, Elizabeth thought. She'd had poison ivy a few times as a child but had never seen a case as bad as his. Worse, what she'd thought was just dirt smudged on his face turned out to be a series of rather nasty looking bruises. She wondered what had caused those contusions.

"I have seen this before in my travels," spoke up Teyla. "The itching should diminish within a few days."

"_Days_?" Zelenka looked inconsolable.

"Although as Dr. Beckett pointed out, yours is a bad case." Teyla looked apologetic at the announcement, then looked up briefly at Beckett. "We do have some herbal remedies on the mainland that would help relieve the itch. I could contact Halling."

Beckett seemed to consider the offer, but then studied the miserable scientist in the bed before him. "Sounds like a good idea." Teyla nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure you'll be fine in no time," said Elizabeth, studying the trio before her carefully. They'd all been through an arduous experience, especially Zelenka, but he seemed to be weathering his recovery well. Beckett had mentioned how concerned the scientist was for the major's well being on the previous evening. She knew that Sheppard gave a lot of himself for the base, and probably didn't realize just how much he meant to others.

"Dr. Zelenka was telling all about the cat." Ford sounded pretty exuberant.

"The animal that the major mentioned earlier?" asked Elizabeth.

Zelenka nodded, then continued to tell the tale of how the huge feline attacked them just as they approaching the gate, but before it could do any true damage, Sheppard, despite his temporary blindness, managed to shoot the animal, although his last shots went wild when the beast knocked him to the ground just as the force field repelled the beast.

"It sounds like the parasite is endemic in the wildlife," said Beckett somberly, "and somehow, the host animal has a way of protecting itself from the parasite's damaging effects, unlike humans."

"It does explain why the bullets came through the gate," said Elizabeth, remembering the initial shock of that incident.

"They did?" Zelenka looked both alarmed and puzzled.

"Yes, but no one was hurt, although the ceiling took a little bit of a beating," replied Elizabeth with a small grin.

"Well, I hate to be the one who ends this happy little discussion," interrupted Beckett, "but visiting hours are over. My patients need their rest."

Elizabeth knew it was useless to try to override Carson when it came to medical matters. As she turned, she checked in on the major one more time. He still unconscious, but a slight touch on his arm, if he was aware on some level, would reassure him his friends were watching out for him. She watched as Teyla spoke gently to him, then bowed, touching her head to his in the Athosian fashion, before departing. Ford seemed a little uncomfortable with all the emotion, just telling his commander to 'hang in there' and that they'd be back tomorrow.

**PART 56**

Sheppard drifted in and out of awareness, as though floating aimlessly on a gentle, ebbing tide. He caught snatches of the outside world… he was pretty sure that Teyla and Ford been around, and he'd heard Elizabeth's voice, soft, near his ear, and a gentle touch against his skin…

He'd heard McKay more than the others. Hard not to miss that insistent, oft times grating voice, so the scientist had to be close by.

Sheppard was oblivious as time passed, just happy that he was home and that Zelenka was safe. He knew that because he'd heard Beckett's soft brogue telling him that… heard Zelenka there, telling him how it was all over now and that he could rest. After a while, the droning buzz of voices drew him to consciousness. He moved an arm experimentally. Yup, an IV. Probably meant he had more wires and tubes stuck on and in him than he really cared to know about. A few seconds later he realized both arms had IVs running into them. That couldn't be very good. A sleepy feeling hovered over him which was both soothing and annoying as it made it hard to think, so he'd probably been given some sort of painkiller. It took him a moment to dig through scattered memories to realize he probably needed the stuff: ripping apart his arm and back with his own fingernails constituted something pretty painful.

He tried to settle back down into the fuzzy cotton feeling of unconsciousness, but he failed. With awareness came clarity as well as the oppressive knowledge of why he was trapped in an overwhelming black.

Shoving aside the sudden memories of the eye drops' agonizing burn, he forced himself to focus on the conversation that was taking place just several feet away from his bed.

"Rodney, you canna get poison ivy from touching someone with it unless they still have the oil on their skin," repeated Beckett in a vexed tone.

"But he's leaking!" countered the astrophysicist in horror. "Oozing."

"If I were contagious, then the major would be covered with it," argued Zelenka's firm voice. He sounded pretty good, actually, strong enough to verbally spar with McKay. "After all, I had my hands all over him."

Dead silence. Sheppard thought about just what the Czech had said. Zelenka really oughta rephrase that, before rumors got started.

"Dragging him all the way from the compound to the gate," elaborated Zelenka with a huff, one that was most likely directed at McKay's no doubt incredulous stare. He finished off with something muttered in Czech.

"What was that?" demanded McKay.

"Get a dictionary," taunted Zelenka.

"You insulted me!" McKay was pissed.

"Ha! You only wish."

"But I can't believe you couldn't even recognize poison ivy," shot back McKay, trying to deflect the topic.

"Leaves of three, let it be." Sheppard was surprised at how hoarse he sounded.

"Major! You're awake!" McKay nearly shouted.

"I'm not deaf," said Sheppard light-heartedly. _Only blind._

There was no bone-crushing hug. McKay wasn't into demonstrable shows of affection, thank god. He knew something would hurt if anybody squeezed him like that. Instead, he felt a firm hand on his forearm.

"I was wondering when you'd join us," said Beckett.

"Hard to sleep with all the chit-chat," joked Sheppard, licking at dry lips. Stupid question, but… "How long?"

"Nearly16 hours since you returned to us," replied Beckett. He didn't sound worried, which was good.

"What did I miss?"

"Besides Zelenka oozing like the _Creature from the Black Lagoon_?" commented McKay acidly.

"The Creature didn't ooze," corrected Sheppard. "Unless they do a remake. Everything oozes in remakes. Gallons of ooze." Inanity was nice. Gave his brain time to kick back into gear.

"Well, he's oozing poison ivy sap or whatever." He heard McKay shift, then the man's hand pulled off his arm, which meant the scientist was probably crossing his arms defensively against his chest.

"How are you feeling, major?" asked Zelenka. He sounded further away than the others.

"Lot better than when we last talked," admitted Sheppard. "Thanks."

"You are welcome."

"Major." Beckett had supplanted McKay's position at the bedside. "Now that you're awake, I'd like to take another look under those bandages."

Sheppard dreaded that, but responded. "Okay."

"Rodney." Beckett was annoyed.

"What?" McKay sounding guileless.

"Sit."

"But…"

"You'll know soon enough, just sit," ordered Beckett.

"I… okay."

Sheppard heard the rustle of fabric and a body plopping down in a nearby chair. Maybe it was true. When people lost their sight, their other senses compensated for it. Short term. He prayed it was short term.

He heard a nurse or someone come up on the opposite side of the bed, then felt the bandages being carefully peeled off. He winced slightly at a sore spot on the side of his head. "You've got a few stitches in the side of your head from striking that counter," explained Beckett, "but fortunately the laceration, though deep, didn't cause any irreparable damage."

The bandages were now off. "There now. Looking much better, major, if I do say so myself," said Beckett confidently. "You were a bit of a wreck when you were brought in. The swelling has gone down, but it will probably be several days before that the discoloration completely disappears. Could you open your eyes?"

Sheppard realized that he didn't want to. The tension in the air was almost tangible. Everybody was worried. What if he was blind? He didn't know what he'd do if that was his fate.

God, he'd faced down Wraith, been just inches from a horrible death by their nasty hands. He could handle this.

He slowly opened his eyes.

"Major?" asked Beckett.

Sheppard stared for a long second. "Uh, it's … fuzzy." Not 20/20. Damn, he hoped this didn't mean glasses. Could they even make glasses on Atlantis?

"Don't worry, it's the ointment we put in your eyes to help reduce the inflammation that's causing the blurring." Beckett swam into his vision, very close, with that optho-whatever scope doctors always stuck right up to your face. The light in his eyes felt sharp, but the sensation vanished when Beckett pulled away. "You're looking very good, major." Beckett was back at a respectable distance, smiling happily. If Carson was happy… he heard McKay heave a welcome sigh of relief, but then the agitated scientist's face popped into his field of vision. "Wait. Beckett, what are those red spots on his eyes? I thought you said the parasite was gone?"

"Tiny spot hemorrhages in the sclera that, yes, were caused by the parasites as some…" Beckett cringed a little. "…did get into the eye's surface, but they'll vanish in time and have caused no damage."

"Are you sure?" demanded McKay. _Yeah, let him grill Carson_. Sheppard wanted to go back to sleep.

"Yes, Rodney. I can give you all the technical jargon but that is not your area of expertise," Beckett said in exasperation. McKay glared at him. "Do I need to stab you again?"

Stab? Sheppard watched as McKay's eyes widened appreciably. He looked … worried? This was interesting. McKay got that look on his face, the one he got when he had to back down, and that wasn't very often. It was actually good to see that – to see anything.

"Hey, McKay," said Sheppard, trying to fight off his sleepiness. "You know, I've always wanted to say this."

McKay studied him hesitantly. "What?"

"You're a sight for sore eyes."

**PART 57**

"Thank you, Anna." Beckett smiled at the petite redhead as she went back to her duties in another section of the infirmary. He studiously checked the paperwork, nodding in satisfaction at what he read. Major Sheppard's potassium levels were back to normal, there were no signs of any infection, which meant that the IVs could soon be removed and when the major awoke, he could be put on an oral regimen of antibiotics.

Visitors had come and gone during the day as word had spread rapidly through the base that the men were back. Beckett hadn't been surprised at the volume of traffic, which is why he had to impose visiting hours. Now it was night, he'd cut off visitors so both men could get rest and that had to include McKay, at least for the nighttime hours. McKay had had bad timing all around; whenever he was able to stop by, Sheppard was either sound asleep or being tended to by Beckett's personnel, or Zelenka was off soaking himself to into a giant prune in a tub of cool water. Yet that didn't stop McKay from just pulling up a chair and working on his laptop as he sat next to Sheppard when the chance arose, until he was called away to handle something on the base that no one else seemed capable of fixing.

Beckett glanced over at the two beds. Sheppard was asleep, and Zelenka… He checked his watch. Hmm, he'd have to send a nurse in to pry the Czech out of the tub. The only thing that seemed to get him out of there was either a laptop or catching up on sleep, but his itching was made a lot more bearable as the herbs Teyla had brought back from the mainland did help dry out the vesicles and reduce the itch.

He studied the small table now situated in between the two beds. Several large flowerpots were situated on top of that table. Purple and yellow petals sprouted from the plants that were, really, well, quite lovely. Zelenka had regarded the plants with a wary eye when Ford and Teyla brought them on their last visit, but Teyla assured the scientist that the plants were entirely non-toxic. Ford added that the plants were on loan from Botany and had to be returned in a few days, but they wanted to send something up. Teyla's culture didn't have the custom of bringing flowers to hospitalized people, but she felt the gesture was nice nevertheless.

Of course, that table was where McKay had put his chair not long ago.

McKay wouldn't be happy with the new furniture arrangement, but so be it.

Beckett turned his attention back to the laptop, checking on a few files before he turned in for the night.

The Ancient file that Rodney had decrypted and sent to him had been vastly disturbing, on many levels. He could see why McKay had been so agitated. The last surviving expedition member had managed to survive being killed by another team members, then found the cure to the parasites, but too late realized the insidious side effect from the parasites' habitation. The man's symptoms – cramps, weakness, paresthesias, heart arrhythmia – had all been chillingly replicated in Major Sheppard. Remarkably, it had been Zelenka's small gesture of kindness that had saved the major from the parasites' destructive nature, but had also ironically sent the major into a downward and nearly lethal spiral.

Beckett had studied the file very carefully, several times over, but fortunately couldn't glean any new information that would cause him worry. He'd known all about the undetectable – by Earth standards at least – devices that had attacked members of the SG-1 team, and had worried about that for a while, but the 'parasite detector,' as Zelenka had later called it, ruled out infestation in either man.

As Beckett shut down his laptop, he hoped that another encounter such as this wouldn't occur again, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Their constant exploration of the Pegasus Galaxy put them at great risk every time they went through the gate.

* * *

_NOTE: One more part left, and they're finally out of the woods... or are they ? ;)_


	6. RECOVERY

TITLE: **I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN**  
AUTHOR: Wraithfodder  
WARNINGS: Violence, language, icky gross critters and some swearing.  
See DAY ONE for disclaimers, copyright and other notes.

* * *

**RECOVERY**

**PART 58**

It had been more than a few hours, he knew that much. Sheppard could recall brief moments when he'd awoken, still exhausted by the ordeal but roused to tenuous consciousness by a touch or noise, only to realize that everything was okay, and that he could succumb to the welcome bliss of sleep. Hours or days, it didn't seem to matter. John Sheppard finally opened his eyes. The ceiling hadn't changed from any other time he'd found himself flat on his back in the infirmary, but this time he realized it was sharp. The fuzziness from the ointment was gone, thank god. 

The soreness that had possessed his body was nearly gone, but he still felt weak. He wouldn't put any money down that he could get out of bed and walk to the other side of the room. Get out of bed and collapse into a heap was more like it at the rate he felt. 

He experimentally moved his limbs – all there, and no more annoying tingling or itching. Better yet, the IVs were gone from both arms, and other more intrusive tubing had been removed as well, thankfully, while he was out of it. 

It had to be evening. It was quiet, save for the sporadic, soft sound of fingers dancing against a computer keyboard. Had to be Zelenka. He knew Rodney's style. Fast, furious, and he was amazed the scientist hadn't abraded the letters off the keys with his pounding. 

Sooner or later, he had to move. Might as well be now. He rolled over carefully on to his side, astonished when his hand struck a bedrail. He hadn't realized that the beds in Atlantis had bedrails. Oh well, probably a good idea as he didn't want to land face first on the floor and bust a nose or something. 

He stared briefly at his right hand and the darkening bruise that spread across the knuckles like a smear of ground-in dirt, wondering where that had come from. White bandages still encompassed his forearm where he'd scratched the hell out of it. 

His vision strayed across the way to where Zelenka sat up in bed, laptop in, well, his lap, obliviously typing away. 

"Oh my god," sputtered Sheppard. 

Zelenka immediately looked at him in worry. "Major Sheppard. Are you all right?" 

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Sheppard realized that the last time he'd actually seen the Czech scientist had been back on the planet when he'd been huddled in a corner, trying to ground out his eyes. Now… that bright red spot on the Zelenka's neck had mutated into a bubbly-scaly patch of poison ivy that had gone wild. His neck, half his face, and lord knows what else, was covered in the gruesome dermatitis. He didn't even want to think of what the hospital gown might be hiding. 

Zelenka waved a hand dismissively. "It looks much worse than it is." 

"Doesn't it…" Sheppard wanted to cringe. Maybe he did. "Itch?" 

"Not so much as before." Zelenka smiled. "Between Dr. Beckett's medicines, and the herbal remedy that Teyla brought from her people, I barely feel it now, and it is healing." 

"If you say so." Sheppard couldn't see how Zelenka could look happy, but if he was, that was okay with Sheppard. 

Zelenka set his laptop aside on the bed and studied the major carefully. "You are feeling better, yes?" 

"Just wiped out, mostly," admitted Sheppard. He stared at his dark knuckles, then at then nasty green-purple bruise covering part of Zelenka's face. "I remember the P-90…" _Waking up, startled, and slamming the weapon into the poor man's face_… "But, did I do that to you?" 

Zelenka gingerly touched the other contusion, which bore the suspicion pattern of a set of knuckles, now that Sheppard studied it more closely. "Yes, but you were not thinking clearly at the time." 

"Sorry," Sheppard apologized, but he wished he could remember why he was apologizing. He couldn't remember all of what had happened after the eye drops. The most memorable part – the worst part – was the searing agony that had enveloped his eyes, and then— 

"I guess thanks are in order," said Sheppard gratefully. Zelenka looked puzzled, then Sheppard gestured at his own eyes. 

The Czech nodded, seemingly almost embarrassed by that action. 

"Just, uh, what happened?" asked Sheppard. That was the problem sometimes with concussions: loss of memory. 

Zelenka seemed reticent to explain, but then dove in, doing his best to make the account as clinical as possible, but Sheppard could detect the inflection of horror in the scientist's voice when he spoke of the major's unconsciousness and bleeding away on the floor. 

Sheppard knew it was illogical, but he felt a bit guilty for putting Zelenka through all that, even though he knew there was nothing either could have done to prevent it. Zelenka didn't seem to notice the major's inner turmoil and he rebounded, going on about the extraordinary storm that Sheppard had missed, then his inadvertent discovery of the eye drops' curative powers. Sometimes the description was too detailed, but Sheppard had long ago become accustomed to rambling scientists since going to the Antarctic, and Zelenka had a manner of speaking that made Sheppard wonder if he could drag the scientist off to the mainland and they could get the Athosian kids together and tell them horror stories. Zelenka would be great for that. However, did Zelenka know about Nightmare on Elm Street? 

Zelenka wrapped up, mentioning McKay's name. Sheppard blinked. He'd missed a good portion of what Zelenka had been saying. Crap, he'd have to read the mission report. "Where is he, anyway? McKay?" 

The Czech suddenly looked horrified. "I thought your vision was unimpaired?" 

"It is. Why?" He was positive he still had a nasty case of red-eye, but everything was back to 20/20, so at this point he didn't really care if McKay looked at him askew because of a few red dots. 

"He is right in front of you!" 

Sheppard's eyes widened. The blue item at the bottom of his field of vision wasn't some extension off the bed, but Rodney's leg in a cast. He'd been so focused on Zelenka and the hideous looking poison ivy that he hadn't paid any attention to his surroundings. McKay was stretched out – definitely asleep – in an awkward position on one of the stuffed chairs that someone had dragged in from the corridor, and had propped up his damaged leg on top of the table, where it sort of blended in with the flowers Sheppard hadn't noticed before either. Geez, how long had he been out of it? And when did Atlantis get a card shop? He noticed several Get Well cards stuck in amongst the flowers and the foot. 

"He has been hovering around the infirmary like a vulture since we returned," explained Zelenka. 

Sheppard focused his stare on the cast, just a foot away from his bed. Hmm, maybe not even that far away, come to think of it. He didn't realize that casts came in other colors besides white. 

"He has a bad tendency to worry too much," continued Zelenka. 

"He does that a lot," agreed Sheppard. 

"Especially when he thinks that his best friend might be dying," added Zelenka softly. Sheppard looked up in surprise at this admission, studying the open expression on the scientist's face. "Rodney does not make friends easily," continued Zelenka. "Yet you have accepted him for all his flaws." 

Sheppard flashed a tired grin. "Well, he's like mold. He sorta grows on you." 

Zelenka arched an eyebrow amusingly. "I will remember that comment for future blackmail." 

"You do that." Rodney was like mold in some respects – impossible to get rid of, annoying, and some folk didn't like him, but… underneath all that whining and aggravation was a decent human being, and oddly enough, a man whom Sheppard realized he didn't mind calling his best friend. 

"He's sleeping pretty soundly, isn't he?" remarked Sheppard. 

"Very much so." Zelenka studied the Canadian, who shifted slightly in the stuffed chair, hugging a pillow to his chest. He was unaware that he was the topic of conversation. "He slept little while we were gone. Dr. Beckett told me. And he feels in addition to worrying about our mission gone awry, he had to handle all crises on Atlantis as well." 

"Man needs to learn how to delegate," muttered Sheppard, raising an eyebrow. "You got a pen?" 

"No." 

"Can you get one? Like a Sharpie?" asked Sheppard. "Uh, quietly? We don't want to wake Rodney." 

Zelenka's brow furrowed, and his trouble radar had to be going into hyperdrive, but instead of asking why Sheppard required an indelible marker, he simply summoned a nurse with a wave of a hand. 

Sheppard smiled. This is what best friends did. 

**PART 59**

"Excuse me, but what do you all find so funny?" 

McKay's irritated voice carried into the control room before he actually came into view. Elizabeth turned toward the sound. She sipped at her morning cup of tea, studying her Chief Science Officer as he stalked into the communications area, glaring nastily at everyone. Oddly enough, despite the non-verbal threat directed their way, various personnel seemed unable to not snicker at him. 

Even Peter Grodin, who cast a surreptitious glance at Rodney as he passed by, was unable to keep a mirthful smile off his face. 

"What?" McKay snapped hostilely at the Englishman. 

"Nothing," replied Grodin, but the smile refused to leave his face. 

Rodney grumbled heatedly under his breath and stopped beside Elizabeth. "What is it with everybody? Did I not get a memo?" he sniped. 

"Not to my knowledge." Elizabeth smiled, but at least Rodney didn't take that as an offense. But, he was awake, carrying a coffee mug, not using his crutches, which meant he was back to normal. She knew it had been a lot to ask, but Carson had let Rodney practically live in the infirmary since the major and Dr. Zelenka had returned, banished only for medical treatments and when he was called away to actually work. 

A stifled snicker and some low whispers filtered through the air behind them. Rodney whirled abruptly on his cast. "WHAT?" he yelled. Thank god the coffee mug was empty or else it would have splashed everywhere when he swung his arms out. 

Elizabeth shook her head, putting one hand to her brow as she tried to figure out what was happening, and then looked down. Oh good grief. 

"Rodney. Sit," she ordered firmly. He turned, glaring at her like a predator studies its prey, but quickly acquiesced to her demand under her stern gaze, and sat down in a nearby seat. 

Elizabeth keyed her earpiece. "Carson? Yes. How are Dr. Zelenka and the major doing this morning?" She listened intently and smiled at the positive report. "Will they be up to visitors? Yes, I know you have set visiting hours but there will be one exception." She listened to him go on about policies and patient welfare. "You'll be able to handle this situation just fine, Carson. Thank you. Weir out." 

"What?" said Rodney. 

"I'm truly surprised it lasted this long," said Elizabeth with a shrug. 

"Am I trapped in some warped _Twilight Zone_?" shot back McKay heatedly. "What is going on?" 

"Just look at your cast, Rodney." Elizabeth was hard pressed not to laugh herself, although really, she had to maintain some dignity. 

Rodney stretched his casted leg out in front of himself, staring at it as though expecting killer ants to crawl out of holes in it. "It looks fine. It's fine, isn't it?" McKay began to look nervous. "What were you talking to Carson about? My leg's okay, right?" 

"The _other_ side," Elizabeth pointed out. "The back." 

Rodney had to stand up, then stretch his leg backward and stare down awkwardly. A moment later, his head snapped back, and in all the time she'd know him, Elizabeth realized she'd never seen the man flush beet red before. 

A murderous glint consumed the scientist's eyes. "Sheppard is a dead man," he swore. 

**PART 60**

"It's green." 

"Aye, that it 'tis," responded Beckett with a yawn. "Nice to see that your color perception has remained unimpaired." 

"But it's green," repeated Sheppard. 

Beckett arched an eyebrow. "But perhaps there's a wee bit of latent brain damage the tests didn't find." 

Sheppard stabbed a spoon tentatively at the small block of gelatinous green material that jiggled slightly at the tepid assault. "This stuff tastes like cardboard, or worse, raw tofu." 

Beckett couldn't really argue with the major on that point. He'd tried it himself when the Athosians had first introduced him to the foodstuff a month ago. The greenish tofu-like substance was blander than his late aunt's awful cream gravy, but … "It's exceptionally nutritious and all your body can handle at the moment. You're going to be on antibiotics for at least another week as a precaution and this food has no contradictions to the Ciproflaxin. Ye really don't want to be vomiting up your meals again, do you?" 

Sheppard looked like a small child who'd been suitably chastised, but Beckett knew the man didn't want to repeat what he'd gone through on that distant world. "No." Sheppard hacked off a piece of the food and stuffed it in his mouth. "But I don't have to like it," he mumbled. 

"It's the best for you right now," continued Beckett, secretly relishing the fact that Sheppard was actually obeying him for once. "You'll progress to real food soon enough. After we flushed you out, we want to make sure we get your digestive system back on track." 

"Flushed?" asked Sheppard tentatively. He frowned, then wrinkled his face in disgust as he figured out just what that meant in regards to his medical regimen. "Crap." 

"Well, you hit that one on right on the head," grinned Beckett. 

"Ugh," muttered Zelenka from his bed. 

Sheppard shook his head as he hacked off another piece of the green substance, which promptly crumbled across the plate. "Can we please change the topic? I'm eating." 

_"KICK ME!"_

The angry voice roared across the room. McKay stalked in like a man possessed and ready to commit mortal mayhem. It took Beckett a mere second to figure out the cause. Zelenka looked a bit mortified at this sudden intrusion while Sheppard looked as guileless as a newborn babe. No doubt about it: Sheppard had done it, whatever it was. 

McKay stopped right in between the two beds, and was nearly quivering in fury. "How could you?" he growled at Sheppard. "Do you realize all the laughs and snide remarks I've had to endure this morning because of you?" He jabbed a finger directly at Sheppard. Beckett could swear that the major was readying to catapult a spoonful of that Athosian tofu right at Rodney if the situation got ugly. 

"Huh?" remarked Sheppard innocently. 

"Rodney. What are you going on about?" demanded Beckett. 

"THIS!" McKay pointed in disgust at the back of his cast. 

"Lord of mercy," muttered Beckett under his breath. There, in glorious bold black ink, was a crude stick drawing with an equally inane happy face atop it, from which flowed one of those bubble quotes seen in countless comic strips. However, only Major John Sheppard could have been so bold – or stupid – to have filled in that bubble with the words 'Kick Me'. 

"Of all the immature, puerile acts," ranted McKay. "Infantile!" 

"Did I not say it was unwise?" muttered Zelenka quietly. 

"It was the drugs," offered Sheppard lamely. 

"The antibiotics don't addle your thought processes, major," reminded Beckett. 

"Brain damage?" he offered. 

"Ach, we've scanned you from head to toe and every which way we can, more times than I care to count," Beckett said, crossing his arms, wondering how Sheppard would worm his way out of this mess. "Try again." 

"And it doesn't wash off!" whined McKay loudly. 

"It's tradition," said Sheppard, shoving aside the dish on his tray. Beckett smiled inwardly. He didn't want that nasty food splattered all over his infirmary. 

"What? It's tradition to humiliate and mock your co-workers?" McKay was still livid. Beckett wondered what the man's blood pressure was up to at the moment. 

"No," Sheppard said very calmly. "When a _friend_ gets a cast, it's tradition for his _friends_ to sign it." 

"I—" McKay suddenly sputtered, his anger deflating like a punctured balloon. 

Beckett resisted the urge to comment, but sometimes, Rodney McKay could be so blind. 

"You see," continued Sheppard in a level tone, "I wanted to sign the cast when you first got it, but noooo, you wanted it to stay as pristine as, well, whatever." The man shrugged helplessly. "So… when I saw that cast right in front of my face last night…" 

"He could not resist," finished Zelenka with a small smile. 

"But 'kick me'?" McKay sounded both annoyed and hurt. 

Sheppard looked guilty. "I thought about transposing the integers in Fermat's Theorem 'cause I knew that would drive you nuts, but my hand was a little unsteady." 

Beckett had no idea what that theorem was, but McKay obviously did. He laughed. "Not that many on this base would have gotten that joke." 

"Yeah," agreed Sheppard. "'Kick me' is pretty much universal. Uh, nobody tried, I hope." 

McKay looked horrified. "Not that I know of." 

The situation was definitely defused, Beckett noticed, and in a bizarre way, it was a strange type of therapy for the three men. Deciding he was no longer needed – as he knew Sheppard, despite his complaints, would finish off the food as he'd done the previous evening – Beckett headed back to his office, but he focused his hearing on what was transpiring behind him. 

"So, what is that you're eating?" echoed McKay's curious voice. "Looks like rancid feta cheese, or pigeon poop." 

"McKay!" cried Sheppard. 

**PART 61**

Elizabeth stared at the myriad of email messages on her laptop, reading them over one more time. She realized that the proposal, although potentially dangerous, had its merits, but then so had the original mission, and they'd come so close to losing both the major and Dr. Zelenka that she was sure it was going to give her some nightmares down the road. 

The briefing room filled quickly – Beckett, Dr. Branford, Sergeant Markham, Corporal Rensen, Rodney and Dr. Waller. Everyone looked tense but excited, and Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a bit of trepidation at what was being broached. 

"I think going back to…that planet," began Beckett. 

"PX8 3H6," Rodney said quickly. 

"…Is insane considering Major Sheppard nearly died from that blasted parasite, but…" Beckett looked as though he were having teeth extracted without the benefit of a painkiller. "I think further investigation of the parasite is merited." 

"And it's extremely likely that a ZedPM is powering the Ancient compound," added Rodney in his rapid, excited tone. "That's why the mission was formed in the first place, to investigate that power source." 

"Which neither Major Sheppard nor Dr. Zelenka were able to extract from the facility, remember," pointed out Elizabeth. 

"Because the team was coming back to get the proper equipment and personnel to do just that," said Rodney confidently. "Which we can now do." 

"Do you still have concerns about the parasite?" Elizabeth asked Beckett directly "You said the major was clear of any… infestation." She hated that word but that's precisely what had happened to Sheppard. 

"It is an alien organism, and from what little information we did gather from the Ancients' database, it was bioengineered to some degree." Beckett leaned forward on the table. "Dr. Branford has volunteered to go planet-side and conduct some experiments on the creatures. The parasite appears to be endemic in the wildlife so procuring a sample, for better or worse, should be easy. I'd honestly rather be safe than sorry when it comes to clearing the major." 

"But he is all right?" Rodney focused a concerned stare on the physician. 

"Yes, he's recovering well," said Beckett. "He'll be on antibiotics for another week or so, but I suspect we'll release him from the infirmary in a few days, but I'm keeping him grounded to the base for another week." He shot a meaningful glance at Elizabeth. "And don't let him tell you otherwise. Dr. Zelenka, although he looks rather horrid, can actually leave the infirmary now if he'd like." 

"How long can it take to type a mission report?" Rodney muttered under his breath. 

Elizabeth just arched an eyebrow and ignored the prickly comment, as did everybody else. 

"We should investigate the parasite further." That suggestion came from Dr. Waller, resident biologist whom she'd barely had the chance to see during their time on Atlantis. The man's grey eyes focused unerringly at her, firm in his conviction. He worked closely with Dr. Branford, who nodded vigorously at the suggestion. Both doctors had sent copious emails to her detailing why the next mission was necessary. She couldn't fault their reasoning: any weapon they could use against the Wraith was something they needed to investigate. 

"And we need to do this within the next seven days or else we scratch the mission for, who knows, half a year?" 

Elizabeth turned at Rodney's voice. "Why?" 

"Flooding." Rodney swung around the laptop he'd brought along to the briefing. He pulled up some impressive graphics. "Peter did a rundown of the weather pattern on the planet. If the rains continue at the current predicted rate, the compound will go underwater, and probably the gate itself, within ten days. It is a rainforest, after all." 

Each of the scientists took their turn presenting their case for the return trip. It reminded Elizabeth of a grant interview; everybody vying for that one precious donation that would make a dream come true. Despite the fact that the planet's ecosystem was incredibly dangerous due to the parasite as well as the predatory animal life, everybody was game to go. Somehow, that didn't surprise her. She'd picked all the expedition members herself, and a trip through the Stargate to an unknown world might now seem miniscule compared to the initial jump they'd all made from one galaxy to another. 

Elizabeth turned to Beckett, who still looked troubled at the potential mission. She'd already made up her mind, but wanted to make sure everybody knew the risks. "Carson. When can you start preparations?" 

"I can start today," he replied, looking around the table. "Everyone should be ready within three days, which gives us leeway." Several heads nodded enthusiastically. 

"All right, gentlemen." Elizabeth shut her own laptop and leaned forward with assurance. "Then the mission is a go." She cocked her head at Rodney. The smile on his face faltered. 

"I'll tell Sheppard," he said grimly. 

The meeting broke up and everyone scattered, but Elizabeth motioned very slightly for Beckett to hang back, which he did. 

"Is there something ye need?" he asked. 

She patted her hand on the table's surface, a subtle hint that they needed to talk. Beckett sat down opposite her. "How are the major and Dr. Zelenka doing?" 

"Physically, they're doing fine," he said. "But ye already know that. We were lucky to have gotten the major back when we did. Another few hours and the hyperkalemia could have escalated to the point of irreparable cardiac or respiratory failure." Elizabeth just nodded, her lips pursed tight. She knew how close they'd come to losing Sheppard and it had scared her. 

"But I gather you're talking the psychological repercussions." Beckett arched an eyebrow meaningfully. "Dr. Zelenka is doing fine. He's made of harder stuff than I'd first given him credit, and I think the fact that his role basically turned to caretaker on that planet helped immensely. He could have left the infirmary a day or so ago. His poison ivy is not contagious, despite the myth that some folk keep spreading." He sighed and she could only imagine Rodney's initial response to Zelenka's horrid appearance. "In a way, I think Dr. Zelenka still feels responsible for the major's welfare. When the major's discharged, I've no doubt he'll leave as well." 

"And John?" Elizabeth couldn't help but worry. Since they'd come to Atlantis, Sheppard seemed to have borne the brunt of alien abuse… bugs, Wraith, and now parasites. 

Beckett shrugged slightly, and she wasn't sure how to interpret that gesture. "The whole ordeal physically exhausted him, so he's had to recover from that, and the antibiotics he's on do make him nauseous, but fortunately, not terribly so." Beckett paused a moment as he seemed to contemplate a thought. "Psychologically, so far, he's handling it pretty well. As you no doubt noticed, his sense of humor remains unchanged." 

Elizabeth smiled as she thought back to the crude drawing. "Yes, I can only suspect he did only that piece of artwork on Rodney's cast because he knew he was safe in your custody." 

"Aye," agreed Beckett with a slight chortle. "Rodney's felt the business end of a needle rather recently and he knows the infirmary's my territory and won't risk any retaliation." The doctor leaned forward against the table, folding his hands together. "Back in the War - WW II, that is - after men were in battle, they were given time to decompress, sent back on ships that took months to get 'em home. The newer wars back on Earth, even our fights here, we patch 'em up and send them back out." 

Elizabeth nodded sadly. The fight against the Wraith was taking its toll. She saw the weekly reports from Dr. Heightmeyer and had, in a few instances, had to take people off duty so they could recover from all the stress. 

"We don't have that luxury of time anymore," Beckett said with regret. "As Dr. Zelenka told us, he had something to do while on the planet, while once the parasites took hold of the major, there was little he could do except fight the pain and that damned itch and…" Beckett grimaced. "I canna imagine what it was like to spend those hours waiting for your own death, knowing what horrors were in store. That kind of situation could easily make a man introspective or depressed." 

"Kate?" broached Elizabeth. She knew their resident psychologist was busy with others, but if necessary, would put Sheppard to the front if needed. 

"I've asked Kate to stand back for the while," admitted Beckett. "Since the major's been awake, I've noticed that he and Dr. Zelenka are talking, and I think that's better therapy than anything Kate can offer at the moment. Zelenka was on the front lines with the major, so to speak, so he can emphasize with what the major went through." 

"Should there be any cause for concern about delayed stress?" she asked. 

"I can't honestly give an answer yet," replied Beckett with a wistful smile. "We're keeping an eye on the two of 'em, and I'll let you know if anything changes. If nothing else, having Rodney make a pest of himself down there is good." 

"In what way?" 

"Well, he can be pretty blunt," said Beckett to her knowing nod, "and he can force some issues to the surface that they might otherwise dwell on. He was affected by this mess just as badly as the major and Radek, so I dare say I believe when those three get talking, it should help 'em all." 

"I hope so." Elizabeth smiled, wondering how Sheppard would take the news of the impending mission. 

**PART 62**

It wasn't often that he'd read about himself in the third person, but since the mission report he was reading on the laptop was Zelenka's, and not his own, it made sense, but still, it was bizarre. 

Now the military always wanted all the details: fill out form this, stroke-dash-dot that, triplicate to a zillion different offices and people, but scientists, apparently, could be just as bad if not worse. 

As the parasites had exerted more pain, time had begun to distort for him while he'd been trapped on that planet. He'd barely looked at his watch, not wanting to know that only five minutes of misery had passed when he thought he'd been clawing up the back of his neck for two hours. He hadn't given much thought to the actual _details_ of what Zelenka had been doing to try to save them - futz about with Ancient databases and equipment was what had come to mind – and that's what he had actually typed into his own yet-unfinished mission report. Zelenka had obsessively detailed every step he'd taken while on the planet, but just as in military reports, he'd left out the emotional context. When your chopper is spiraling out of control and you just know you're going to end up charred cinders in a blown-out hole in the ground below - but you somehow survived - you didn't write in your report that you were so F-in' scared you'd nearly crapped in your pants right then and there. No, you left that detail for getting together with your buddies and a few six packs and blowing off steam with people who knew what you had gone through. 

He'd started writing his own mission report, but it had begun looking like a missive churned out by someone on a five-day bender with massive black holes of memory just shot to hell. Concussions, passing out from whatever. Just whole chunks gone. Or maybe he'd just been unconscious and hadn't realized it. 

"Maybe I should just wait for the movie," he muttered sotto voce. The science stuff about the database was beginning to give him a headache, especially since he was on page three and heck, he hadn't gotten to the point in the report that he'd run off to fry a few million brain cells by throwing himself into the gate's force field. He randomly chose a page number and jumped ahead in time. 

Sheppard laughed quietly, mostly in disbelief, as he read Zelenka's account of the scientist stringing him up in the tree. He couldn't believe Zelenka and written in some calculations about weight and stress loads - and remarkably, the Czech was only off by a few pounds on Sheppard's actual weight. But it was the description of "and the major called out to me" that made him laugh... he didn't know why. That particular sequence of time he did remember, and he'd probably never forget: waking up to find himself totally alone, the near dead silence of the forest around him, the terrifying darkness that held him in its grip, but worse, the sensation of that thing jumping down from the branch above to land square on his chest. He'd frozen in utter panic, horrified that it might be some kind of predatory cat, until it started walking across him. He'd actually been able to count the legs as they tentatively strode across him as though he were a sidewalk. Eight legs. Eight long, nasty lightweight legs with sharp little feet. A spider. A massively huge spider, as big as a dinner plate, was methodically making its way toward his head. His arms were out to either side, still too weak to pull up instantly, and all he could do was hang there, motionless, listening to his heart thud frantically in his ears as the arachnid paused on his face. Several seconds later, it simply leapt off, using his head as a launching pad, landing elsewhere. 

He'd hung there for a few seconds, daring not even to breathe, listening as the vine creaked ominously under his weight… wondering inanely if the creature had really left or if it was waiting for the perfect opportunity to crawl into his mouth. He'd just freaked at that hideous thought and started yelling in panic for Zelenka. 

And Zelenka had calmly arrived with the 'ride' he had procured. Damn, the man deserved a medal or a commendation or something for how he'd pulled them both through. Or at least, Sheppard realized, he should read all of Zelenka's mission report, from beginning to end, even the boring parts. He owed the man that much. He hit the CRTL-HOME key to start over.

* * *

McKay hobbled into the infirmary, pausing briefly to stick a pen down one side of the cast to alleviate a tiny itch. He knew he shouldn't do that in front of either Sheppard or Zelenka as even the mere mention of the word 'itch' turned both men into absolute grouches, unless of course, they brought it up themselves. 

Peggy whoever, he could never remember her last name, but she was pretty blonde nurse with the long hair who just totally ignored him ever since they'd arrived on Atlantis, actually stopped and chatted with him briefly, smiling as she commented on his cast. 

McKay shrugged, a little embarrassed, and muttered something about lack of time before she went back to her duties. He had been averse to getting the cast signed, but didn't want to admit it to anyone. While Sheppard truly enjoyed signing broken limbs, Teyla would have signed it because it was a custom, Ford probably because he felt he should but… anybody else? He'd envisioned maybe half a dozen signatures, and then, a barren wasteland of empty space that showed just how much he meant to others. Maybe it was the memory of when he'd been young that had compelled him to rebuff Sheppard's original offer. Dennis Landers had turned the white cast on his arm a colorful array of black, blue and red signatures from various classmates, but had snubbed Rodney's attempt to sign. "Why would I want a geek to sign my cast?" He'd been eight at the time, but the caustic remark had still stung. 

But now… a silly smirk took hold on his face as he spied Sheppard and Zelenka in their beds, both men engrossed in their respective laptops. 

McKay grabbed the stuffed white chair he'd dragged in from the hall a few days ago and pushed it in between the beds again. He sat down, then plopped his casted leg atop the table between the two beds, careful not to touch the potted flowers. He'd heard there would be death or serious bodily injury if they were damaged in anyway. 

Sheppard slowly tore his view away from the laptop and regarded McKay with an arched eyebrow. 

"Get mugged, Rodney?" 

The major was now in surgical scrubs and had ditched the unflattering hospital gown. That meant he was ambulatory, at least to a degree. One of the nurses had told him Sheppard was determined to totally bypass the bedpan routine and get to the bathroom, which he managed to do with assistance, but it had worn him out. 

"Why would you say that, major?" McKay grinned happily, like he'd just won the lottery. 

Sheppard studied the cast very carefully. "Well, your leg is covered with graffiti." 

"Maybe if you learned another language besides, say, Pacman," McKay replied, and then he pointed at some scribbling on the cast. "You'd recognize that as Spanish, that's Japanese." 

"Oh, yeah." Sheppard made a face and stared at McKay. "So, what do they say?" 

"Uh, well, I … er." 

"They could have all written--" 

"Oh, please," McKay interrupted the major's sentence with the flourish of a wave. "Elizabeth has read them all and they're fine." 

Sheppard got an evil grin on his face. "Oh, hey, I like this one." He pointed to the underside of the ankle. 

"What?" asked McKay. 

Zelenka hopped out of bed to come over and look himself. 

"Radek, aren't you ever going to get rid of that stupid gown?" asked Rodney. Damned things were unflattering, and ultimately, humiliating if the backside got exposed. Very humiliating. Yes, humiliating was definitely the proper description. 

"It is comfortable," replied Zelenka. "Scrubs would chafe." 

"Against what?" 

"This." Zelenka just pulled the gown aside for a brief moment. 

"Oh god, cover up!" McKay nearly screeched. He couldn't believe it. Nearly half of Zelenka's torso was covered with the wretched poison ivy. 

"Whoa. Wait, back it up," said Sheppard. 

"Are you nuts?" countered McKay. 

"What do your shorts say?" asked Sheppard curiously. 

McKay had barely noticed the white shorts with bold red lettering on it, not after the shock of seeing the poison ivy body from hell. Two words – _horký materiál-_ repeated all over the cloth in big block letters. 

Zelenka replied – horky material or something like that – but that was Czech, which was what the text was obviously written in. "And that does us a fat lot of good," groused Rodney. 

"They were gift." Zelenka developed a faraway smile on his face that actually made Rodney feel jealous. "From friend." 

McKay quickly looked over at Sheppard, who had an odd look of puzzlement on his features. They exchanged a silent glance. He could swear Sheppard's face said 'just how does Zelenka get all the women?' Instead, Sheppard shook his head and said, "Uh, back to the cast." Zelenka yanked his gown behind him. "Yes, what is it?" 

"Don't forget to return my…" Sheppard cocked his head to the side to read the rest. "Wire crimper." He looked up with a smug smile. "Wow, great friend you got there, McKay." 

"Oh, that was Dorkman." McKay grimaced at his blatant mistake. "I mean Dr. Dorfman." 

"Ah, that is now two for the collection," murmured Zelenka happily. 

"Major, what's he's talking about?" 

"Blackmail material," replied Sheppard matter-of-factly. "You really don't want to know. Believe me." He leaned back against his propped-up pillows. 

He probably didn't, but he'd ferret it out eventually. Secrets were hard to keep on Atlantis. McKay settled into what Sheppard had termed 'the comfy chair.' "How are you doing?" 

"Oh, you know, same old same old, give blood. Eat Athosian tofu, sleep," remarked Sheppard dryly. "Go nuts from boredom." 

McKay carefully scrutinized the major. Outwardly, he appeared on the mend. His eyes no longer looked like some insane Hollywood makeup artist for a horror film had attacked him, although the red dots on the whites of his eyes still creeped out McKay a little no matter how much he said it didn't. 

But he didn't know how the major could be so… okay. Rodney had worried himself to the point he hadn't eaten and almost passed out, and then in a frenzy had scarfed down several PowerBars in one sitting and nearly made himself sick. He'd managed to get by on precious little sleep, spending every waking minute in a futile attempt to try and save the two men. 

McKay shifted uncomfortably in the chair, and then put his casted leg on the floor. It wasn't that he wanted to play resident shrink; lord knew he wasn't one to talk about feelings, but Sheppard seemed just too status quo for all that happened, and dammit, he wanted to get it out of his system. Even after that Wraith bug, Sheppard had been more talkative, unless… 

"Major, what day is it?" 

Sheppard regarded him as though he'd suddenly sprouted a third eye in the middle of his forehead. "Thursday. Why?" 

"Saturday," corrected Zelenka. Rodney nodded. 

Sheppard's eyebrows raised. "Really?" 

"Yes," confirmed the scientist. 

"The fact that Zelenka's starting to look like Grizzly Adams wasn't a hint?" said McKay sarcastically. But then again, both men had come through the gate looking like victims of the ultimate bad camping experience. Zelenka refused to get anywhere near a razor until the poison ivy died down on his face, and McKay could blame him one bit. Suddenly, McKay found himself on the receiving end of an uncomfortable stare. "What?" asked Sheppard. 

"I—it's just that," stumbled McKay, not ready for such a direct question. 

Sheppard closed his laptop. Look, I'm fine, okay? Or at least I will be," he admitted. "Right now I feel so tired that even that little Japanese scientist who thinks you're the best thing since Cheese Whiz could wipe the floor with me." 

McKay frowned in confusion. Miko? Mitsibishi? What was her name? 

Sheppard ignored his silence. "Only scary thing is that that awful tofu stuff is beginning to taste good." 

"That is scary." McKay had tasted an earlier version of it a while ago and had spit it out. 

"Can you sneak me in some real food?" Sheppard nearly begged. "Even a PowerBar?" 

"Carson'll shoot me." McKay shook his head. He had to laugh, at least inwardly, that Sheppard now considered those bars 'real food.' 

"Coward," Sheppard said in mock disgust. 

"Live coward," McKay grinned. 

"We are fine, Rodney," interjected Zelenka. "We will probably have a few bad dreams about parasites but otherwise will recover, so there is no need to worry yourself. And hopefully, we will have no scars to show for our experience." After that, he began to pick at a crusty patch on his arm. 

"Beckett said not to do that," warned Sheppard. 

"He is not here," muttered Zelenka. 

"Thank god, I'm getting tired of the man taking blood," remarked Sheppard. 

"I thought he said you were –" 

Sheppard interrupted him. "He's just monitoring the potassium levels, because of the hypokalemia – " 

"_Hyper_kalemia," corrected Zelenka. McKay looked over, then decided maybe he should stop watching the Czech pick himself apart. So gross. 

"Yeah, that. He stuck in IVs of .. .insulin and glucose?" McKay watched curiously as Sheppard looked to Zelenka for verification. The other scientist nodded. "Because my potassium levels were up around 6.8." 

"Should be 3.5 or thereabout," added Zelenka. 

"Anyway, it was borderline severe, which would have been, what, 7.0?" Zelenka nodded again. "Which would have caused…" 

"Peaked T waves with, er…" 

"Widening of the KSR…" 

"QSR, I believe." Zelenka looked up, thought about it, then nodded vigorously. 

"Yeah, that's it," grinned Sheppard. "Or QVC." 

McKay crossed his arms against his chest. "Did you two clowns rehearse this act? Do you even know what you're talking about?" 

Sheppard shrugged as though he were discussing sports scores. "Beckett basically said I had one foot on the banana peel, y'know?" 

McKay swallowed nervously. It had been that close. 

"But, that's all done, in the past, never stepping foot on that blasted planet again." Sheppard relaxed back against the stack of pillows behind him and stared at the ceiling. "You know, once we get out of here, we should do a salute to making it out of there in one piece. Dr. Z. You still got any of that rotgut left? But maybe wait a week or two. Don't think my stomach would survive it right now." 

"If only," sighed Zelenka. "Do not forget Dr. Weir confiscated that bottle." 

"Well, if you hadn't brought such a big bottle from your Athosian buddy," argued Sheppard. 

"Do not forget that it was you and Rodney who showed up for the briefing with hangover, not me." Zelenka snorted. 

"He has a point," thought back McKay. Lord, it had felt like an A-bomb had detonated inside his head that morning. "But, we really do need to follow up on the additional data Radek brought back." He knew he had to tell Sheppard sooner or later about the new mission. At least this way, if anybody's T waves peaked – whatever they were – Beckett's people would be on hand to fix them. 

"Zelenka tore that place apart," countered Sheppard. "What's left to look at?" 

"Not those files," said McKay. "The ones from the second data unit. You know, from the body." 

Sheppard's eyes had been closing in fatigue, but suddenly shot open as thought he'd been hit with a jolt of electricity. "Body? What body?" 

McKay frowned as he realized this could get interesting. "The one you fell in on." 

"Huh?" Sheppard sat up, shifting his stare to Zelenka. "What is he talking about?" 

The Czech gestured at the laptop on Sheppard's bed. "Did you not read my report?" 

"Not all of it," admitted Sheppard. "It's taking a while to get past the boring encryption theorems." 

McKay saw Zelenka's eyes narrow ever so slightly at the word 'boring.' Sheppard seemed oblivious to his faux paux. "Body? Where was that?" 

"I saw no reason to needlessly worry you," said Zelenka with a shrug. "Besides, since it was most a dried-up skeleton—" 

"Those sticks were bones?" Sheppard shot back abruptly. "It wasn't like I'd freak out over that. It's not like they were spiders." 

_Spiders_? Since when did Sheppard have a phobia about spiders, McKay wondered. Of course, maybe those things were on his hate list now after that encounter with the Wraith bug that had glommed on to his neck. 

"Oh, like you told me about cat," came back Zelenka's curt reply. 

"I told you about the cat," refuted Sheppard. 

"Not then, when it was stalking us from the water's edge." 

Sheppard had to think about it for a moment. "You couldn't have done anything if you'd known." 

McKay watched as Zelenka got _that_ look on his face. He was getting pissed. 

"As if you think I would panic?" 

"No," refuted Sheppard. "It's just that animals can sense fear." 

Zelenka glared at him. "I think that the blood would have been far more attractive." 

"What blood?" 

McKay couldn't believe this inane discussion. _What blood?_ The blood on his arm, back and head. Sheppard had looked like the survivor of a bombing when he'd been dragged through the gate. 

"Where the rat clawed me." 

"Rat?" repeated Sheppard. 

"Yes, on piece of tree." 

Sheppard looked absolutely blank. 

Zelenka looked flustered. "Like surfboard." 

Comprehension dawned in Sheppard's eyes. "Ah…" 

"You're dying and you're going surfing?" blurted out McKay. Damn, he wished Zelenka would finish his report and let him read the thing instead of giving him dribs and drabs of it. 

"Shut up, Rodney," ordered Sheppard. 

"No, that's it!" Zelenka slammed down the top of his own laptop and crossed his arms against his chest. "I quit! No more off-world missions!" 

McKay gawked at Zelenka, while Sheppard looked confused, even a bit hurt. "This isn't because I punched you and nearly shot you?" 

Now McKay was speechless. Punched? 

"No, that was not personal." Zelenka calmed down. "Although I think in retrospect it was a mistake to let blind man hold the P-90. _No_," repeated Zelenka, just as Sheppard was about to argue that insane point. "No more off-world missions to planets with jungles. You want me to come along? Nice sterile alien buildings. No plants. _No_ poison ivy." 

"Ah," muttered Sheppard in realization. "Okay. Gotcha" 

McKay wasn't certain what just happened. One second the two men were yelling at each other, and now, it was all over. 

"But I _did_ get that cat," Sheppard decided to add. 

"Not entirely," shot back Zelenka. 

"What?" 

Zelenka popped open his laptop and opened a file. "Page 18 of mission report, line… 960." 

"You number your lines?" McKay couldn't believe it. And people called _him_ compulsive? 

'Yes, in drafts, why not?" posed Zelenka. 

Sheppard was busy looking at the file on his laptop, scrolling through the text. He stopped, reading silently. It was interesting to watch the various expressions that flitted across his face, until he finally looked up. "That was pretty, um…" 

"Ingenious?" suggested McKay smugly. Zelenka smiled at Sheppard's inability to form an instant response. 

A moment later, Sheppard assumed what McKay had once overheard Elizabeth call the 'hurt puppy dog look' and said, "But I did get some bullets in it. I _shot_ it…" He scrolled down the page. "See, four times. Zelenka put it in his report." He jabbed a finger emphatically at the laptop's screen. 

"But Zelenka had to finish it off with the force field," reminded McKay. "Plus the other shots went into the gateroom." 

Sheppard blanched. "They did?" 

"The cat struck you in the chest, knocking you and gun backwards," explained Zelenka, his eyes darkening momentarily as he fell back into the memory. "Apparently you kept your finger on the trigger as you were falling backwards." 

"No, you didn't hit anyone," McKay quickly clarified at Sheppard's concerned expression. "Ceiling took a beating but you can hardly tell." 

"Little touch up paint?" Sheppard winced. 

"Something like that," said McKay. He drummed his fingers anxiously against the stuffed chair's arms. Maybe he'd broach the mission later. Didn't Beckett say both men needed rest? Sheppard still looked tired. 

"Wait a sec." Sheppard fixed a stare at him. "What did you mean by following up on the data?" 

McKay smiled weakly. "We're sending a mission back to the planet." 

"You're _what_?" 

"Rodney, have you lost your mind?" chimed in an upset Zelenka. "The whole area is flooding." 

"Not to mention a slight problem with _parasites_," ground out Sheppard. 

"The team will be in HazMat suits," defended McKay. Damn, he should have left this task to Elizabeth. 

"And they're going to swim across the flooded areas?" interrogated Zelenka. 

"Puddle jumper," responded McKay, and then he smiled to himself. "Hmm, in this case, I guess it really is." 

"And fly a jumper _through_ that huge tree that blocked us from that option in the first place?" posed Sheppard. 

"It fell down," said Zelenka. 

Sheppard turned, astonishment plain on his face. "It did?" 

"Yes, during storm, while you were concussed," explained Zelenka drolly. "Details are not far past one of the 'boring' sections of the report." 

_Ouch_, thought McKay, as Sheppard winced at the digging remark. 

"But anyway, to make a long story short, the team's been, um," McKay paused for a moment, "dosed up with the antibiotic used in the eye drops that Zelenka used, that also kept him, Teyla and Ford parasite-free." 

"And Beckett's going along with this stupid scheme?" asked Sheppard. 

"Yes." McKay frowned at the antagonism in the remark and almost responded in kind until he searched Sheppard's eyes. It wasn't that the major was pissed off at being left out of the loop – well, there was that – but it what shone through the hazel orbs was fear. Fear that his friends might befall the same horrors he'd just barely survived. 

McKay drew a steadying breath and tried to smile, hoping it didn't come off too smugly. "We'll be fine. We jump from Point A to Point B, get out, go in, snug in our HazMat suits, extract the power source, dig up any new files, retrieve whatever was left behind, and come home." 

After several long seconds, Sheppard blinked and said in a level but tense tone. "_We_? You're going?" 

McKay felt uncomfortable under the dissecting stares of the two men on either side, like a fly caught in a spider's web. "Well, yes, I'm heading up the team. _Walking_ cast, remember?" he replied. "Sergeant Markham is flying us in, and providing backup ATA gene touching. Drs. Branford and Waller are handling the biology department, and Lieutenant Ford and Corporal Rensen are there to handle any security issues." 

Sheppard stared at him for the longest moment, his emotions unreadable. "And Elizabeth approved this?" 

"Yes." McKay didn't like the cold gleam that glittered in the major's eyes. 

"We'll see about that." 

**PART 63**

Elizabeth hadn't expected that Major Sheppard would embrace the idea of another mission to PX8 3H6, but on the other hand, she hadn't expected the outright hostility from him either. It hadn't been a situation she's been able to defuse over the radio: he'd taken over the conversation, barely letting her get a word in edgewise in his opposition to the mission, so she'd gone to the infirmary for a face-to-face talk. 

Before she even stepped ten feet into the infirmary, Beckett snagged her and steered her aside into his office. He confirmed that yes, McKay had brought up the mission, but that Sheppard hadn't taken it well, something she already knew, but she hadn't realized that both Sheppard and McKay had argued the point vociferously, which culminated with McKay stomping out of the infirmary in a foul mood. 

If she couldn't get Sheppard settled down, Beckett threatened to sedate the major. 

It had been what she'd been afraid of since Sheppard's return: that the intense ordeal, along with everything else he'd had to go through since coming to the Pegasus Galaxy, was finally affecting John. 

Sheppard and Zelenka were talking about something when she approached the beds, but both men fell silent when they spotted her. Judging from their tense expressions, it looked like Zelenka was prepared to back up Sheppard's qualms. 

Levity. She had to inject some humor into the situation before it fell down a long, dark tunnel that ended with the prick of a needle and no progress. 

"Major, I didn't realize that Carson had perfected personality transplants," she remarked. Sheppard stared at her, the tense expression unchanged. 

"Ha, yes," sounded another voice. Zelenka got it. "Fortunately, is not possible or the major would be complaining about citrus." 

"Very funny," Sheppard responded curtly. 

As Elizabeth studied Sheppard's glare, which was now focused on the ceiling as he'd slid back against the pillows in an obvious act to ignore her, she realized this wasn't going to be a five-minute discussion about the base's best interests. She pulled the stuffed white chair back in between the two beds and sat down. A silly grin enveloped her face. 

Sheppard actually noticed her behavior. "You find this funny?" 

"No." Elizabeth refused to react to his anger, but knew she'd have to tread carefully. "I just never realized how comfortable these chairs were," she replied, sinking into the plush material. It almost seemed to automatically conform to her body. "We've been here how long now? Have you tried them?" she threw out. 

"No." Zelenka looked almost… envious. Hospital beds could not be that comfortable. 

"Who has time?" remarked Sheppard flatly. 

She wished Kate Heightmeyer were there. This was her area of expertise, but she knew Kate was busy enough already, but Sheppard was their lead military officer. Elizabeth could deal with diplomatic entanglements and warring countries. Mending damaged psyches from near-torture situations was new to her. She knew that Sheppard refused to talk with Kate, professing that he'd made it through the ordeal unscathed. Beckett still held out hope that Zelenka's continued presence would have a healing effect. 

For the first time that she could recall, Elizabeth found it difficult to stay on topic. As they discussed the mission, she had to rein back the urge to go into command mode, stating that despite his deep concerns, the mission was going ahead as planned. His arguments were sound, but only to a degree as he was letting his emotions rule his thoughts. It was only when he pushed a point, with precious little to back up his reasoning that Zelenka, who had been quietly watching the discussion from his bed, spoke up. 

The Czech cast an unsettled glance at Sheppard. "Dr. Weir, if you had proposed this mission a month from now, I would not be so reticent myself at it occurring, but…" He paused, frowning deeply. "The memories are too fresh." 

Sheppard's eyes darkened in some unspoken memory, and he looked away. 

Elizabeth suppressed her own looming trepidation as she continued. "Every conceivable precaution is being taken. If anything - anything - looks wrong, Lieutenant Ford has orders to abort the mission and return home." 

After a beat, Sheppard managed to turn back to face her. Most of his expression still remained unreadable, but she saw a glimmer of something positive. "Ford is good at that." 

"Yes," she agreed evenly. More so than some people, she thought to herself. 

Sheppard studied her for a few seconds. She noticed the tiniest of quirks tug at a corner of his mouth. He knew what she was thinking. 

"Is a possible ZPM worth it?" 

Elizabeth froze at his question, and the fact that he had even asked it. In the beginning, the ZPM had offered them the promise of a new galaxy to explore and, if they were gifted, a chance to meet the gatebuilders themselves. Instead, it had become almost like a coveted drug, something that they pursued at almost any cost in order to survive. Lives had been lost, alliances created and shattered. 

"I hope so," she replied truthfully. 

"So do I." Sheppard turned his gaze away once again. 

**PART 64**

The checklist for the upcoming mission was extensive, and McKay had checked it over at least a half dozen times but what could it hurt to go over it one more time? Especially since by doing that, he'd kill some time and get his mind off the reason why he wasn't down in the infirmary checking in on Sheppard and Zelenka. 

Because they were … _fine_. 

Fine. Both he and Sheppard had yelled that word at each like total idiots, abruptly ending the argument over the new mission. He'd stalked back to his lab, griping about the military mentality or lack thereof and fighting over the escalating guilt because he knew why Sheppard was so upset and he'd just blindly walked into it. McKay wasn't good with certain death and he wasn't much better with people were still reeling from narrowly escaping death's clutches either. 

Did they really need two of that? McKay stared at the computer screen and readjusted the figures. 

Elizabeth had dropped by to see him afterwards, feeling him out on the mission as well as Sheppard's state of mind. McKay had almost lobbed a sarcastic remark about the major's mind not being in any state, in fact, it was definitely out of country, but he knew that wouldn't do any good, and wasn't this Kate's job anyway? Why wouldn't the major just talk to her? McKay had seen her once, okay, maybe a few times, but he realized he hadn't even admitted that to Sheppard, so he was hardly one to talk. 

He'd had to waste ten minutes justifying the mission – to Elizabeth – of all people. Maybe Sheppard's arguments were getting to her and she was looking for that chink in the plan so that she could pull the plug. Or just was looking for reassurance that they were doing the right thing. 

Hell, he wanted reassurance. The thought of that parasite burrowing into his skin scared the hell out of him. 

A loud thud behind McKay nearly made him jump off the stool he was sitting on. 

Turning, he glared at the new equipment cases that had been added to the stack that seemed to be breeding like cockroaches. 

"Does this look like the loading dock for a freighter?" he remarked acerbically. "What are those for?" 

"Sample cases." Dr. Branford shrugged. "For wildlife." 

McKay knew his eyes must have increased to the size of hubcaps. "Wildlife? You said you were bringing back plant samples!" 

"Mammals, if we can snare them." 

Good god. McKay put a hand to his forehead, his mind racing at all the implications. "Well, you can have the joy of telling Sheppard." He'd already had his head bitten off once. He'd like to give it the chance to grow back. 

Branford looked leery. "I heard he was pretty ticked off about the mission." 

Who hadn't heard? They'd yelled loud enough at each that they could have woken the dead, mused McKay darkly. 

"Let Dr. Weir handle it," suggested McKay. 

"He's okay, right? Sheppard?" asked Branford. 

McKay paused. The younger scientist's face was lined with worry. Then it hit him. Sheppard was like the Rock of Gibraltar to many people on the base. If he cracked, what chance did any of the rest of them have? "He'll be … okay," replied McKay with confidence, although inwardly, he couldn't muster up that emotion very easily. "He's just a little stressed." 

McKay blinked, then turned his attention toward the new cases added to the stack. "Just how much junk are you bringing? We're going for a day at the very most, not a week." 

Branford proceeded to rattle off the contents of the half dozen other cases he'd deposited there earlier – all sorts of medical equipment. McKay glared suspiciously at a silver bag, the kind used to keep your frozen entrees like a block of ice until you got them home from the market. 

"Bringing a picnic, are we?" 

"That's for the blood units." 

"Blood?" Rodney didn't like blood, particularly when it was outside of the body. 

Branford nodded eagerly, detailing the plan that made McKay truly understand more as each second ticked by why Sheppard had nearly turned purple during the argument. Despite the short time period scheduled for the mission, the biologist planned on 'inoculating' the blood samples with parasite he'd get from an animal on the planet. He hoped to grow a big enough society of them to experiment upon before the team had to return to Atlantis. Since the parasites' growth had been out of control in Sheppard, Branford didn't see any problem replicating the same environment within a bag of blood. 

McKay just blanched. And he was going on a jumper with this junior Frankenstein wannabe? 

"Dr. Waller's in charge of the experiment," continued Branford, checking one of his cases. "Dr. Beckett approved it." 

"And Beckett is just going to loan you a pint from the blood bank?" 

"The stuff's got a limited shelf life, so, I'm taking a couple pints that will expire pretty soon." Branford suddenly looked glum. "I have to replace them." 

McKay suppressed a laugh when he realized just what that meant. "Ah, the joys of working in the biology department," he said to himself. 

The moment of semi-sadistic glee vanished as the impact of where they were going, and what they were going to do, came back to the forefront of his thoughts. It was only a day trip, nothing more. But then, that's what Sheppard and Zelenka had thought, too. 

**PART 65**

As Halling was now back on the mainland, Teyla had promised to keep him apprised of Dr. Zelenka's progress with the herbal remedy he had brought for the scientist. The tall Athosian had known he didn't need to ask for such a favor because Teyla had visited the infirmary every day since both the major and Dr. Zelenka had returned from the planet. 

She had taken turns, as had the others of the major's team, sitting vigil on and off for those first couple of days that Sheppard had remained unconscious. Unlike many of the people she traded with, Teyla did not marvel at the various machines that Dr. Beckett's team had hooked up to the major. She knew that once, many generations ago, her people had had similar if not superior technology. The massive spires of the old city on Athos, shrouded in mist in the early dawn light, had instilled both awe and terror in her as a child. Her father would gather the children at night to tell them stories of what had once had been, and what the Wraith had taken away, but he never let her forget that the Wraith could never take away their will to live. 

The major had looked terrible at first, so pale and his eyes swollen shut and bright red, but over the days he had begun the road to recovery, both physically and in spirit, from his near-death experience. Yet now it was not difficult to detect a change in the major since he'd been informed of the second mission. 

Atlantis' sun had nearly set by the time Teyla made her way down to the bed where Sheppard was sitting, looking intently at the portable computer in his lap. Dr. Zelenka's bed was empty, which meant he was probably soaking in the herbal remedy. She would have checked on him, but instead decided to wait for him to return to his bed. She had long ago learned that Sheppard's people were not as open as her people, and that included matters of modesty as well. Sheppard had once explained that in his culture, or at least parts of his culture, his people preferred to 'take things slow.' She envied him that luxury. With the ever-present threat of the Wraith, her people, luxuries were few and far between. 

She pulled up the white chair that Dr. McKay had dragged in that first day, positioned it between the beds and sat down. 

Sheppard didn't remove his gaze from the computer screen. "I think it's the chair people want to visit, not me." 

"You know that is not true, major." 

He looked away from the computer, smiling tentatively as he met her gaze. She decided to take the opportunity to broach what she knew was troubling him. "Are you working on your mission report?" 

He blinked, his eyes darting back to the computer screen, but not before she caught a glimpse of a dark emotion flitting past. "Yes. No." He sagged back against the pillows. "I'm just adding notes to Zelenka's report. It's not like I was really awake for most of it anyway." 

"You were ill. It is not expected--" 

"'Infested' is the word Beckett likes to use," interrupted Sheppard sarcastically. 

"But you are well now," she said with confidence. "And the mission that is leaving is taking--" 

The top of the computer was slammed down with a loud snap. Teyla did not flinch as Sheppard carefully focused his unsettled gaze on her. "Please don't use that phrase. I've heard it enough." 

"I know," she acknowledged, raising an eyebrow in response. 

"Word sure travels fast." He found the distant wall suddenly fascinating. 

"Atlantis is a small community, major, as was our settlement on Athos," replied Teyla, and whether or not the major wished to acknowledge it, communities such as those rallied around their own in time of need. "You and Dr. McKay frequently disagree, and quite loudly. Do not forget that I am usually within earshot on those missions." 

"Ford as well," he admitted with a hint of embarrassment. 

"Do you truly fear that Dr. McKay and the others could be exposed to the parasite?" she asked gently. "Both the lieutenant and myself, as well as Dr. Zelenka, are proof that the antibiotic prevents the creature from inhabiting a body." 

Sheppard struggled for a response, but none was forthcoming. She knew that his fear was in part irrational, but it was no doubt bolstered by the terrifying memories of what he had experienced, and memories could not be erased, only dimmed by the passage of time. 

"The parasites are very much like the Wraith." 

Sheppard seemed to think about it. He looked tired. "In that they want to suck the life out of you? Sure, except the Wraith are a helluva more efficient at it." 

Teyla paused before continuing. The major was a private individual, but that did not mean he did not value others' opinions. "Both inspire well-justified fear." 

"But now they're gone," Sheppard began sarcastically, as if repeating someone else's words, "so I—" 

"I too was hesitant about the mission when I first heard of it," she interrupted, refusing to let him go down that path. "But as you have pointed out yourself, the city of the Ancients needs a ZPM in order to protect it from the Wraith." 

"It's a big 'maybe' that the power source is a ZPM," countered Sheppard. "Even McKay wasn't 100 sure. Or course, maybe he's more sure now, and I just haven't gotten the e-mail." 

The brusque manner in which he delivered those last few words didn't escape Teyla's notice. She remembered how tense both she and the lieutenant had been when quarantined. It wasn't only because they were worried so much about their own fate, but their friends' lives as well. The fact that they had to rely on information parceled out to them as it came – which entailed long stretches of silence – had become so unbearable that it had driven the lieutenant to actually begin pacing their room. 

An idea formed in her mind, one that she would need to discuss with both Dr. Weir and Dr. Beckett. 

"Dr. Beckett is a cautious man, but he has faith in the cipro…" Teyla stumbled on the word. 

"Ciproflaxin," finished Sheppard. "Hey, at least I'm safe from anthrax," he shrugged. "But if he's so convinced it works, why the HazMat suits?" 

Teyla just arched an eyebrow at the word 'anthrax.' She had heard Beckett and another doctor discussing it once, shaking their heads in regret. "Even you have no knowledge how you contracted the parasite." 

Sheppard at the top of his computer, his eyes focused on the Atlantis emblem emblazoned across the gray surface. "Could have been … anything." He held up his healing arm. "Maybe a cut. Those leaves were pretty sharp, remember? Insects? You know, with my luck, it would be some damn bug that bit me. If I'd know this galaxy was gonna be so full of dangerous bugs, I would have brought along 60 gallons of DEET." 

"The doctor doesn't want to take any chances, and…" Teyla glanced over her shoulder, toward the bathroom area where the Czech scientist was no doubt relaxing in a tub. "I know he was rather emphatic that no one else return as Dr. Zelenka did." 

Sheppard winced in sympathy. "Yeah, I can see that. It's been bad." 

Teyla studied him carefully. He seemed a little more relaxed about the mission, but would it last? It would be at least 48 hours until the mission departed, plenty of time for the major to dwell on what might happen. 

**PART 66**

Zelenka tossed about fitfully on his bed, yanking on the sheet but after a moment, his eyes fluttered open and he realized that he was tangled up in the hospital gown instead. Maybe Rodney had a point, as much as he hated to admit it. Although the garment was comfortable while he was awake, it was an incredible nuisance when he tried to sleep. A subtle sigh escaped his lips as he looked across the dimly lit infirmary. Soon, the bulk of the poison ivy would be down to a tolerable activity and he could get back to wearing a uniform, or at least something more desirable than the hospital gown. 

The infirmary was quiet, almost empty if not for his and the major's presence and, he could see, a nurse seated at the far end. However, a strangely familiar noise drew him from watching that nurse totally absorbed in reading a paperback. He rolled over to his other side. 

Major Sheppard was sitting up, staring intently at something in one hand while he scratched absently at the back of his neck. 

"Major?" Zelenka leaned on an upraised elbow. 

Sheppard pulled his eyes away from his hand. Zelenka saw that the man held the Palm Parasite Detector, as Sheppard had wryly named it at one point. "Did I wake you?" He sounded regretful, but looked weary to the bone. 

"No." Zelenka sat up, disturbed at what he saw. "The parasites are gone." 

"I know." Sheppard rubbed a hand over his face. Even without his glasses, Zelenka noticed that the dark hair looked damp, plastered down slightly. A thin sheen of sweat glittered on his skin in the dim light. _Nightmares_. Sheppard sighed and placed the detector down on the table between the two beds. "Just woke up and felt this itch." 

"Healing wounds have a habit of itching." Zelenka offered a comforting smile. "I know." 

"Ever have a caterpillar crawl across your skin?" 

Zelenka paused, unsure of where the conversation was now headed. He had to think back, to his childhood and time spent playing in the large woods at his cousin's home. "Yes." 

"Imagine that it's under your skin, inside you," said Sheppard, staring intently across the room. "Now, multiply that caterpillar by a hundred, hell, thousands, and then put sharp little spikes on all their feet. That's as close as I can describe what those parasites felt like when they were in me." He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around upraised knees, and the similarity between that pose and how Sheppard had huddled in the compound's corner was eerily similar. Sheppard rubbed at his already tousled hair. "Hey, they're still in me, sorta. Just dead." 

"Thankfully," added Zelenka. 

"I can't believe McKay wants to go back to that planet." Sheppard swung his legs over the side of the bed. He began aggressively poking around the potted plants. 

"Major?" 

"Radio," he explained. 

"At this hour?" But it was too late. Sheppard found the earpiece and tapped on it. "McKay?… _McKay_? You do realize going to that planet is an insane idea, don't you?" 

Zelenka put hands over his bleary eyes and rubbed at the grit. He was not going to waste the time to end this absurd call. He could see that the nurse had already noticed the unusual activity and no doubt would have Beckett there in minutes. 

"…you're always awake anyway," Sheppard continued sharply. 

A moment later, Zelenka watched as Beckett, clad in blue and white striped pajamas and a bathrobe and, yes, floppy slippers, appeared and talked briefly with the nurse. She nodded and went off to get something, while the physician headed toward the source of his consternation. Beckett didn't look so much like a doctor coming to check up on a patient as a man being annoyed by raccoons trashing his garbage cans. 

Beckett strode up and with one deft motion, ripped the earpiece off Sheppard. "Hey!" protested the major but he instantly shut up at Beckett's caustic glare. Beckett listened to the earpiece for a second. "Rodney, go back to sleep. Yes, it's me. Just go back to sleep. I'm handling it." He pocketed the earpiece in his robe, crossed his arms and glared at Sheppard. 

"Major, it's three in the morning. What couldn't'a waited 'til a more proper hour?" he asked bluntly. "We all need sleep, especially _you_." 

Sheppard leaned back against one pillow and punched the other pillow, which he had clutched to his stomach. "That mission is insane." 

Beckett shot a questioning glance at Zelenka, who silently mouthed 'nightmare.' The physician's stance immediately softened. "Major, every precaution is—" 

"What?" snapped Sheppard unexpectedly. "Do you and Elizabeth read off the same cue cards?" 

The nurse who'd been reading the book appeared at Beckett's side. Zelenka noticed she had a syringe in hand. Sheppard saw it as well. 

"Gonna sedate me?" His words were sharp, like a knife. 

Beckett looked only a little apologetic, but he stood his ground. "You need to sleep, major. Stayin' awake worryin' every hour isn't going to help you heal." 

"I'm doing fine, Carson." 

Zelenka knew better. While the major was recovering physically, ever since he'd been apprised of the new mission he'd been distracted and short-tempered. 

"Maybe I can put it another way," offered Beckett. "Rodney McKay is one of the biggest hypochondriacs I've ever met." Sheppard looked up from where he'd been staring morosely at his bandaged arm. "But he's going on the mission. Ye knew we're—" 

"Taking every precaution," mimicked Sheppard in a weary tone. 

"Yes. "Beckett took the syringe from the nurse, holding it casually in one hand. 

Zelenka could see that the major wasn't going to have a choice. 

"Major, I'll talk to Dr. Weir tomor—um, later this morning," Beckett corrected himself. "I'll see what we can do." 

Zelenka wasn't sure what that meant, and he could see that Sheppard was unsure himself. The major didn't protest when Beckett gave him the sedative; he looked too exhausted and maybe would welcome the dreamless slumber it would produce. Zelenka wondered how long Sheppard had been awake before he'd noticed. 

Within minutes, Sheppard succumbed to the drug's effects. Satisfied that his patient was finally getting some much-needed rest, Beckett turned to Zelenka, handing him the radio earpiece. 

"Thank you," said Zelenka. He knew Sheppard didn't like being out of touch. 

"Are you all right then?" asked Beckett. 

Zelenka nodded, then picked at the hem of the hospital gown. "I think I will take a pair of scrubs now, please." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes, why?" Zelenka was confused. 

"Ach, ye dinna know?" Beckett grinned as he motioned for the nurse to get the item. "Nurse Browning rather likes your legs." 

Zelenka felt his face flush, but then. "Really?" 

**PART 67**

Elizabeth looked down at the round face of her watch. In twelve hours, puddle jumper two would go back through the gate to PX8 3H6. And in another 12 hours past that, the mission should be complete, and the anxiety that pervaded some quarters of Atlantis would be gone. At least she hoped it would be. 

The past two days had been trying. She'd seen more of Kate Heightmeyer in that time period than she had in the last month. Remarkably, it hadn't been Sheppard who had been the focal point of their discussion, but one of their engineers. Dr. Spiven, a quiet-spoken mechanical engineer, had shown signs of high stress, which culminated in a physical altercation with a colleague. Medication wasn't the answer; instead, Spiven had been sent off for a week on the mainland to 'de-stress.' The Athosiasns didn't mind guests, as long as the guests pulled their own weight. Not everybody adjusted well to life on Atlantis, and Elizabeth knew that if and when they re-established contact with Earth, that some personnel would be making a one-way trip back. 

After Sheppard's early morning call to Rodney, Carson had spoken to her at length over breakfast. "I can't fault him for his concerns," the doctor had said, "A lesser man would have cracked after all he'd had to endure." Carson had then folded his hands in front of him, in a manner reminiscent of an old college professor who loved to give droll lectures. "The major's the ranking military officer on the base, and now decisions involving his people are, in his opinion, being made without his input. It's affecting him, Elizabeth, so I'm putting him on semi-active duty." Elizabeth had frowned. "Which means?" Carson looked slightly confused himself and explained, "Well, that would mean he's back on active duty—" She'd cut in with "So soon?" Then he'd gone on to explain that Sheppard was definitely still confined to the infirmary, but that when it came to military decisions, he needed to be involved, even if his decision was overridden. 

In retrospect, holding that first briefing without Sheppard or Zelenka's real-time input had been a mistake, so she took Carson's (and Teyla's) suggestion to heart. The rest of the briefings, the few that were held, were done in the infirmary. 

The expected fireworks between Sheppard and Rodney never transpired. Instead, everybody clustered around a spare table that Beckett had set up. McKay almost immediately took over the briefing since he was in charge of the science aspect of the mission. After a while, Elizabeth could sympathize with the major's pained expression as Rodney had gone into excruciating detail, as if he daring anyone to poke holes in his plans. Nobody did. 

A tense moment came when they realized that in order to access the lab which the two men had locked shut when they'd left, that someone with the ATA gene would have to remove their glove to touch the actual wall. Rodney had stared silently at his own hands, while Sheppard had looked terribly introspective. "Maybe I should go," he'd said aloud. Everyone had looked at him, aghast at the suggestion. "I don't think so, major," countered Beckett. Sheppard had his argument all ready. "The antibiotic would protect me," he protested. "Hell, I was practically mainlining the stuff and you've got me on pills for the next couple weeks." Beckett had just smiled very smugly. "Trouble is that as soon as you stepped foot on to that jumper, you'd pass out on the floor, lad." Sheppard had just glared. "I'm doing fine, Carson. Besides, we're not walking from the gate. It's a jumper. Point A to Point B as Rodney is so fond of pointing out." 

"Aye, but I'll be jabbing you in the backside with a fast-acting sedative," Beckett explained further. "You're grounded, major." His tone of voice brooked no argument. "For at least another week. And no amount of complaining or cajoling is going to change my mind." 

Sheppard had scanned the faces around him, seeking backup from his own team, but Rodney just happily nodded, an action that was repeated more reluctantly by Ford and Teyla. Elizabeth's negative response was the final nail in the coffin as far as he'd been concerned, so he'd crossed his arms against his chest and slouched back in his chair. "It's a conspiracy." 

"Besides, major." Rodney seemed to be enjoying his newfound power. "You're hardly in peak shape at the moment. You wouldn't be able to outrun one of those cats." 

"You've still got your cast and you're going," reminded Sheppard sarcastically. "And you can run?" 

"We'll be using a jumper," countered Rodney quickly. 

"So then I wouldn't need to run from a cat?" Sheppard smiled, very much like a Cheshire cat. 

McKay made a face of disgust when he realized that Sheppard had tricked him with simple logic. "Beckett's grounded you. It's out of my hands." 

Then it had been 24 hours and counting, when Elizabeth had been able to visit Sheppard again. Carson had kept her apprised of any unusual activity. Fortunately, the major hadn't made any more ranting calls to McKay at an unearthly hour, and for the most part, had slept soundly through the night, except for Rodney's own midnight visit to the infirmary to discuss just how big the predatory cats were on that planet. The interruption hadn't sat well with Zelenka, who had angrily thrown his pillows at the Canadian. 

Elizabeth had found Sheppard sitting in the stuffed white chair. He wore a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. Someone must have fetched the clothing from his quarters for him as she knew Beckett was strictly enforcing the major's confinement. The major's bare feet were propped up on the table and he was occupied with a computer placed in his lap. His dark hair stood out in spiky disarray. He must have just washed it. 

She found her attention drawn to Zelenka's bed. It was too neatly made from what she had observed since visiting the infirmary. "Where is Dr. Zelenka?" She sat down carefully on that bed. 

"He abandoned me first this morning," Sheppard sighed in mock disappointment. 

"Well, it was _just_ poison ivy." Elizabeth smiled. She'd known that the Czech had stayed on in part to lend support to Sheppard during his recovery. The major wasn't stupid; he had to have known that as well. 

"Two things, actually." Sheppard said as he typed away on the PC. "First, he was working on some project and needed to run some tests. Beckett was averse to Dr. Z dragging his lab here, but I really think it was reason number two." 

Elizabeth was happy just to see Sheppard basically back to normal. His participation in the few briefings seemed to have helped his attitude immensely, even if virtually all his concerns had been challenged and dismissed, but at least it had been done with logic, except for the few caustic remarks that Rodney had tossed in, which had been met with scowls from Zelenka and some rather well-placed zingers from Sheppard himself. 

"And reason number two would be?" she asked. 

"I think he was tired of the nurses walking in on him while he was soaking in the tub." Sheppard's grin vanished as he suddenly cursed. "Ah, damn. Cocooned again." 

Elizabeth frowned, then slid off the bed to see what on earth he was talking about. 

"Wait," he said, but more to himself than to her. "I have a knife. Yes, Level 10!" he crowed. 

Definitely a computer game, but one she wasn't familiar with, not that she played any of those games herself. Wait… a shadowy figure skulked across the screen. Clad in black, its long white hair rippled just like… "A Wraith?" she said aloud. 

"If we survive the Pegasus Galaxy, this could be a best-seller on Earth," he remarked casually. "One of Zelenka's buddies made this. It's what he does in his off time to relax. Think he's calling it Wraithkiller." 

"Ah." Elizabeth couldn't see how playing a game in which a Wraith hunted you down could be considered relaxing, but then maybe virtual Wraith were tame compared to parasites. As if reading her mind, Sheppard said cheerily, "Took a few practice sessions to get the hang of it. I've been killed a few times, but only cocooned for later feeding just twice." 

"I think I'll pass," replied Elizabeth, grimacing at the thought. 

"You should try it," he said. "It's the 'B minus' version." 

"Which means?" 

"No bugs." 

"Don't all these software games have bugs?" she pondered. 

"_Wraith_ bugs," he clarified with a mock shudder. "Told Zelenka I wasn't stepping ten feet near the darn thing if it had any of those bugs in it." 

Elizabeth could understand the sentiment. It had been a bad time for all. She waited quietly, watching as Sheppard moved his 'character' through what she assumed was the interior of a Wraith hive ship. "What's the ultimate goal?" she asked. 

"To destroy the hive ship, save Atlantis," he explained. He looked up and shrugged. "And yes, I am all caught up on my real paperwork." 

She hadn't intended on posing that question, knowing that once he was released from Beckett's care, he would have handled any backlogged administrative chores. 

Several Wraith were shot, rather gorily, and fell like toppled trees as the animated character made its way toward what had to be the control room. 

"How do you escape?" 

Sheppard drew his attention away from the game. "Um, uh…" A brilliant blue flash enveloped the screen. Seconds later, the Wraith dragged off their stunned prey. 

"Crap, an ambush," he muttered dismally. "But, I don't know. Guess I don't. Just blow up with the ship." 

Elizabeth felt distinctly uncomfortable at how easily he conveyed those words, even if it was just a game. 

"Zelenka found an escape pod or something," Sheppard said as an afterthought, "but then I think he knows where the Easter Eggs are and he's not telling." 

"What are those?" 

"Hidden clues," explained Sheppard. "So he's advanced to level 18." 

Ah. She carefully studied the screen. "And you're still at level 10," she said wryly. 

Sheppard slowly shut the laptop and then, with a pained smile, looked up at her. "I'm sure you didn't come here just to see that Zelenka is beating the pants off me in a stupid game. What's up?" 

"I just wanted to see how you were doing." 

"I'm bored out of my mind," he admitted. "And Beckett won't let me out of here until tomorrow." 

"He wants to make sure you actually rest," replied Elizabeth knowingly. "I know you, John. You might rest for a few hours in your quarters, but then you'd start roaming the city, maybe even go down and bother Rodney." 

Sheppard grinned. "Oh, I think I'd have to take a number for that. I spoke with him a little while ago. He was busy arguing with someone on the best way to remove the ZPM from the wall. Well, that is, if there actually is one there. I told Ford that C4 was not an option." 

Elizabeth sat back down on the bed, careful not to muss the immaculately made covers. She folded her hands in her lap. "You're all right with the mission?" 

Sheppard made a face, like he'd just swallowed something bitter. To him, perhaps he had. "It's not like I have a choice but well, yeah," he said grudgingly. 

"It's difficult to stay behind." Elizabeth knew that was part of the problem, and Sheppard nodded weakly in response. He hadn't asked to be in command of the military on Atlantis; it had been thrust upon him. And he was accustomed to sending himself into danger, not ordering others to do that while he stayed behind. 

"Well," spoke up Sheppard after a minute. "At least Zelenka found all the problems, so there's not much else they can uncover to get themselves into trouble." 

Elizabeth hoped that was the case. 

Sheppard leaned his head back and shut his eyes, a non-verbal hit that he wanted to end the conversation. 

She knew that until the mission returned, and everyone was safely accounted for, that a tenuous worry would always be with Sheppard. She knew that, as every time his team went through the gate, she felt the same way. 

**PART 68**

McKay remembered that fateful day he'd been shipped off to Russia, not to mention the rather sadistically happy faces of the Stargate SG-1 team – especially Colonel O'Neill, who still treated him like a government lackey despite all his contributions to the Stargate program. He'd taken two suitcases, not huge ones either – just some clothes and basic necessities. It wasn't like he was being sent to the far end of the world. Well, actually, once he'd gotten there, he'd changed his mind rather quickly on that assessment. He hadn't had a cat then, luckily. 

He didn't need much, never had, so he never over-packed for trips like he recalled his late aunt doing. She'd make a yearly visit to the house, dragging along everything but the kitchen sink, and sometime he'd wondered if that beat-up bright red suitcase had indeed contained a sink. 

Dr. Branford and his comrade, Rudy Waller, must have inherited the same packrat gene as his aunt. It was very fortunate that Lieutenant Ford actually had some guts and told the scientists they couldn't bring the entire lab with them. So a few items were going to be left behind. 

HazMat suit, antibiotic eye drops. He'd dosed himself just a few minutes ago, as Beckett had prescribed. Even though they were going to be vacuum-packed, seal-a-meal in the damned HazMat suits, one couldn't be too careful. 

HazMat suit. Drops. Okay, did that. Ford and Rensen were loaded with enough weaponry to blow away a busload of bears, so no giant sabertooth tiger clones would be noshing on their bones. 

"Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale…" 

McKay turned suddenly at the voice, someone singing – someone who sure as heck wasn't going to secure a record contract. Sheppard stood at the base of the jumper's ramp. He was in sneakers, blue jeans, and a black T-shirt. McKay could see the healing marks on the major's arm, and that was an uncomfortable reminder of what dangers they walking into. Zelenka stood beside him, in uniform pants, but wearing a worn T-shirt that said '_What part of_' --- and there was a complicated, at least to mere mortals, mathematical problem – '_do you not understand_?' 

"This is my send-off?" mused McKay as he came down the ramp, tugging at the uncomfortable HazMat suit. Thank god he didn't have to seal on the top till they got to the other side. "What? No leis?" 

"With your allergies?" remarked Zelenka knowingly. 

"Ah yes, there is that," murmured McKay. He shifted, at which point he noticed Sheppard intently studying the inside of the jumper. He wondered how long Sheppard and Zelenka had been standing there watching him mutter to himself about crates and protocols before making their presence known. 

"Amazing." McKay stared at Zelenka. "You even spiffed up for this momentous occasion." 

Zelenka, now clean-shaven though still showing the redness of the poison ivy that had covered half his face, just snorted in derision. "You think far too highly of yourself, Rodney." 

"Well, that explains it." Sheppard stood back, nodding and crossing his arms in satisfaction. 

"What?" McKay looked at the interior of the jumper. It was now perfect. 

"How the Howells and Ginger had a new change of clothes in every episode of _Gilligan's Island_," elaborated Sheppard with an innocent look. "You packed for them." 

"I- oh, for Pete's sake, major," complained McKay abruptly. "This is an important scientific mission, not some silly TV show which had no basis in—" His rant was interrupted as he had to move aside when Branford and Waller came on board. They were literally minutes from taking off. Ford and Markham were already upfront, although it was hard to tell because of all the junk they were taking with them. Rensen showed up, saluting at Sheppard, who just cocked his head in response. Off-duty, but then McKay couldn't recall ever seeing the major salute anyone. 

A second later, Ford came to the rear of the jumper. "Major." The soldier beamed. "Dr. Beckett let you out?" 

"Nah, I just chewed off my chains and escaped," said Sheppard dryly. "Bloodhounds will be after me soon." 

Ford just laughed, and even McKay was tempted to do so but his mind was too swamped with the minute details of the mission to focus on that. Everybody knew that if Sheppard passed the physical, he'd be released. 

Despite the casual appearance he projected, Sheppard was restless. He had to be – half his team was leaving without him, going to a planet where some hideously out-of-control biological experiment had nearly taken his life – and he was stuck twiddling his thumbs back on Atlantis. 

"Ford," ordered Sheppard. "I expect you to bring everybody back in one piece." 

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant acknowledged, glancing directly at McKay. "You got one minute, doc." 

"Yes, yes," grumbled McKay at the unnecessary reminder. The lieutenant went to the forward compartment. He could hear everybody settling in for the trip through the gate. Seconds were ticking by, but also dragging as though they were being drawn through a black hole. 

Sheppard's brow furrowed. "Sure as hell hope you're not expecting a kiss and hug before you go." 

Zelenka rolled his eyes. McKay couldn't keep the disgust off his face. "How juvenile of you, major," he replied. 

"I try my best," said Sheppard with a smirk. 

"Dr. McKay." Corporal Rensen was suddenly behind him. "Time to come up front." 

"Coming." McKay began backing up the ramp, keeping his eye on both Sheppard and Zelenka. He knew that none of them cared for schmaltzy good-byes, and it wasn't like he was going to some place awful, well, not too awful. But the stupidity of the farewells was better than having someone overtly worrying over him. 

Zelenka waved just once. Inanely, McKay thought of that drecky Love Boat series. "Be careful, Rodney." 

"It's my middle name," he shot back as the ramp began to move up. 

"Hey McKay," said Sheppard. 

McKay frowned but studied the major intently, hoping he wasn't going to hear any last minute warnings about brain-sucking parasites or the like. "Yes?" 

"Don't drink the water," said Sheppard simply. 

The ramp came up quickly, cutting off both Sheppard and Zelenka from view. Was that some cautionary warning because if so, it was pretty stupid considering they're be stuck in HazMat suits for virtually the duration of the mission and of course they wouldn't drink any water on the planet. Or did he mean…? _Damn_. Now he was going to spend hours thinking about being trapped in a sealed-up HazMat suit for God knew how long and what if he had drunk too much water before he left? 

**PART 69 **

Teyla missed the breeze on Athos. The softness of its caress as she performed her daily practice had been soothing, leaving her in a deep contact with the environment around her. Atlantis did not have the soft sound of insects, nor the creak of tree branches bending under the breeze. Instead, the city seemed 'sterile,' devoid of nature. That had also been a concern, and a reason, why her people had departed for the mainland. The children had been at a loss at what to do on such a massive but restrictive city, torn away from the night skies. 

At first she had found it difficult to stay on Atlantis, and felt disconnected from her own people, but time had healed the wounds of the suspicion that Sheppard's people had exhibited toward the Athosians. She kept in contact with Halling, and when possible, visited the mainland. Her people were doing well; the children were thriving once again in a natural environment. 

For a while, they had been lost. 

"Just starting?" 

And speaking of lost… Teyla concluded the last of her moves, sweat glistening off the contours of her muscles. "I have just finished, major." 

Sheppard leaned against the room's doorframe. He looked disappointed. "Aw, come on, you're inexhaustible. So, one match?" 

The major always considered the fighting practice to be a contest of sorts, although he was slowly realizing that it was more than just physical conditioning, but a way in which to keep the spirit whole. However, some time away from actual practice and he seemed to have regressed back to his original beliefs. However… 

"And Dr. Beckett does not mind this strenuous activity immediately after your release?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

"No, he's fine with it." Sheppard's voice practically squeaked. 

"You need to practice your lying, major." She teased as his smile evaporated. "Within a few days, we may continue our sessions. Dr. Beckett does not want me to undo what he has done." 

"Did he come down here to lay down the law, or did I just miss the city-wide announcement?" asked Sheppard sarcastically. 

Teyla just smiled as her reply. She draped a towel over her shoulders as she began to gather up her equipment. Sheppard came into the empty room that Teyla had taken over as an exercise and meditation room. He sat down on the bench by the window, looking out through the translucent windows that let the sun's rays illuminate the hard floor. 

"I'm surprised that you weren't at McKay's send-off," he remarked. 

"I saw Dr. McKay earlier, before you were released from the infirmary," she explained." He was quite busy with loading the jumper." 

"Ah, must have missed you," Sheppard looked over. 

Teyla stretched back, easing out her muscles, aware that the major was studying her. "He was rather pre-occupied with telling Dr. Branford how to arrange the cargo." 

"Oh well, I can see why you didn't hang around," quipped Sheppard. She understood his words. Dr. McKay had been rather obsessive on the placement of each container. 

"One day I would like to know the origin of your planet's phrase, 'move it or lose it.'" Teyla watched Sheppard make a face. "However, as I may not 'beat the tar out of you,' as Dr. Beckett so colorfully described it…" 

"You don't do – well, hey, I am getting better," protested Sheppard weakly. "I'm just a little out of practice now." 

"Yes, you are," she agreed lightly. "But there are some movements you can do that will not cause so much strain to your healing wounds." 

Sheppard tilted his head inquisitively. 

Within minutes, the pair were doing a series of stretching exercises. The major commented that the moves were similar to yoga, an Earth discipline in which people could twist themselves into pretzels and remain in such a pose for hours. Teyla knew of various cultures that revered in such meditative states. 

After twenty minutes or so, Sheppard broke from a stretching pose, rolling over on his back, grimacing. "Okay, uncle." 

"Uncle?" she asked, kneeling down next to him. 

"It's what you say when you've had it. You quit, capitulate, want to crawl away and lick your wounds," he explained after catching a breath. 

"Your wounds pain you?" she asked in concern. She'd seen the extent of damage he'd done to his own back. It had to be painful and would not heal overnight, even though the major wished they would. 

"No, just ache a little," he admitted, pulling himself into a sitting position. 

Teyla saw him check his watch, knowing of his trepidation regarding McKay's trip to the planet. She knew that the session was his way to keep his mind off that mission. 

Sheppard stared at his watch, unaware of Teyla's scrutinizing gaze. 

"Major, there is something I'd like you to show me, if you have the time, of course." 

"Oh?" he commented curiously.

* * *

The south pier wasn't exactly an exciting piece of real estate, and it wasn't something a person could easily dive off without having a means to climb back up. The wave action could easily pound a person into a chunk of hamburger if the ocean wasn't calm, thought Sheppard. 

It was also an area of Atlantis that wasn't necessarily off-limits to all personnel, but one in which orders had been dictated that people just didn't wander off alone, in case of accident. In all the time they'd been there, he didn't think Teyla or any of her people had been there, so it hadn't been a difficult choice to agree to her little 'field trip,' even though he knew she suggested it just to keep his mind off McKay's mission. They'd even walked there, avoiding the transporters, which had definitely added an extensive amount of time to their little sojourn. He'd expected someone from the mission to call, ask questions about something on the planet, but apparently help wasn't needed. He'd even contacted Elizabeth, who confirmed that the mission was progressing just fine. While that made him happier that they weren't encountering anything disastrous, part of him couldn't help but wait for some ominous piece of news to come over the radio. 

However, time seemed to fly as he and Teyla studied the fish that would occasionally linger in the water below, perhaps checking out the activity on the other side of the water's tenuous surface. Although fishing hadn't been a pastime Sheppard had engaged in back on earth, the thought of doing it here on Atlantis seemed appealing, especially when he spotted something like a ten-foot grouper pop up, eye them like they were a potential lunch, and then swim back to the ocean's depths. 

"That could have served the entire base for a day," he'd imagined, entertaining the very brief thought of shooting the next big fish that came along, but then, he had no way to get the fish out of the water. They should make nets, or maybe Ford could just lob in a stick of dynamite and see what floated up. 

Teyla was truly intrigued by the variety of fish they'd seen. She mentioned a world she'd visited that had abundant fish in their lakes; at least it had been, years ago, but now, with the Wraith culling going on galaxy-wide, it would be hard to know what might be left. The Wraith not only culled the people, but also destroyed the environment if the people fought back. They did not tolerate their food misbehaving. 

"So nice to have a welcoming party when we got back," said a familiar voice in mock derision. 

Sheppard turned from studying the lulling waves, noticing that the sun was heading toward the horizon. McKay, back in his uniform, was walking toward the pair. Sheppard didn't have to look at his watch to know the team had returned before the pre-arranged time. "What? No decontamination?" He felt uneasy at that thought. 

"Been there, done that," said McKay in a bored tone. "Had way too many samples of a highly personal nature taken and we're all fine, hunky dory, etc. We came back early. Gilligan would be proud." 

Sheppard let the hint of a smile grace his face at that last remark. "Why?" And why hadn't anybody told him? Probably so he wouldn't hang around the infirmary pestering Beckett. 

"High tide." McKay had a sour expression. 

"And the power source?" 

"Yes, in fact, it was a ZedPM in the wall," said McKay wistfully. "Not a fully charged one from what we could determine, but I'd have killed to have brought it back." 

Sheppard noticed that Teyla was content to stand back and simply observe. He marveled at her patience. "What happened?" 

"First, whoever put that ZedPM in the wall, booby-trapped the damned thing," complained McKay, peering over the edge. "Was that a yellow fish?" 

"Probably," remarked Sheppard. He'd seen various colored fish swim by in the last few hours. "And…?" 

"Even Corporal Rensen was averse to defusing it since neither of us were very keen on blowing up a quarter of the planet, not to mention ourselves. We didn't have time to figure out how they rigged it, plus, we can't take it anyway." McKay crossed his arms petulantly. 

"You know, the sun's gonna set before you finish this if you keep adding in all these dramatic pauses," warned Sheppard lightly. 

"Well, I'm just trying to stall the forthcoming case of depression that will make me eat the last Ding-Dong I have stashed in my lab. At least I hope I still have it stashed," muttered McKay. "It's just like, like… hell, that _Lord of the Flies_ planet with the kids. The ZedPM powers the shield, or in this case, it powers the force field, and the force field has to stay in place." 

"To keep the parasites from leaving," finished Sheppard grimly. 

"Give the man a kewpie doll." McKay waved both arms dramatically. "Branford and Waller whined ad nauseum that if we removed the field, it would be worse than when we'd awoken the Wraith. If that parasite got out into the galaxy, we could potentially wipe out the entire human race here, yada yada, you know?" 

"Not a good thing." Although Sheppard also felt regret at not having a ZPM to protect Atlantis, at this point he'd rather deal with the Wraith than the parasites again. 

"But on the bright side, we found some more data files, and picked up all the stuff you and Zelenka left behind." McKay looked a bit happier. "Laptops just don't grow on trees." 

"No, you get them at the store," smiled Sheppard. "Or mail order." 

"You know, you could have said something." McKay's tone had done a complete one-eighty. He was now dead serious. 

"About what?" Sheppard frowned. 

"The state in which you left the Ancient compound." 

Sheppard was confused. "Um, yeah, we forgot to call Housecleaning before we left. What are you talking about?" Sure, they'd left behind laptops and the like, but he could barely remember leaving. Bouts of dizziness and literally feeling his way out of the structure were his memories, and that's only because Zelenka forced him to go. If he hadn't… Sheppard knew he'd be a rotting corpse by now. "Look, the lab was trashed when we got there." 

"I'm talking about the blood." 

Blood? "You mean the fingerprints?" Zelenka had made some sarcastic remarks about the bloody daubers he'd left over virtually all the walls during his search for the vault. 

"The pool of blood." 

Pool? Sheppard's hand went to the side of his head, where the hair was growing back around the laceration that Beckett had had to stitch up. Zelenka's haunted words about Sheppard 'bleeding out' came back to him. He looked up from where he'd been staring at the deck, saw the darkness in McKay's eyes. They were all doing their best to put the entire horrid experience behind, or least deal with it, and some coagulating pool of dried blood would probably give McKay a nightmare or two. 

"Head wounds bleed profusely," said Sheppard. His mind was blank as to what else to say. 

"And heal quickly," added Teyla. 

Thank god, a voice of not-doom, thought Sheppard. "So, uh, find any poison ivy?" 

"As if I went there to look for that?" McKay looked annoyed, but also seemed to be glad that the topic had changed. There was nothing more they could say anyway. "Actually, if there are any 'leaves of three' there, I didn't see them. Probably some mutated alien version with five leaves or something." 

"Something," agreed Sheppard. 

"Brought back some rodents though." McKay stepped forward to lean over the side and gawk openly at the waves lapping at the city's base. 

"Rodents?" repeated Sheppard, feeling his pulse quicken. "You brought something live back from that planet? I thought that—" 

"Force field, major, remember? Force field," McKay reminded, holding up a finger superciliously. "Branford had time to 'de-bug' the bunnies – he thinks they're rabbits but they look more like big rats to me – so he brought a couple of them back for study. Probably going to slice and dice them like sushi when he's done." 

The force field wouldn't let through any live parasites. Sheppard knew that all too well, but the thought of any animals brought back from that planet still gave him the creeps. 

McKay suddenly shoved past him. Sheppard had to grab the scientist before he toppled into the water below. "Did you see the size of that fish?" 

"Always thinking about food," grinned Sheppard. 

**PART 70**

If she'd been back on Earth, Elizabeth knew that she would have been extended 'executive privilege' when it came to perks. She'd never resisted the smaller ones: a meal delivered to her when she was working into the wee hours of the morning, a limousine instead of having to flag down a cab in the pouring rain when she had to get to an important meeting. But on Atlantis, she'd made certain that everybody was on the same level playing field. While command decisions were one thing, who was privileged to get that last cup of coffee was, by her own edict, to go to whoever got there first. 

Her hand reached out for the faux blueberry muffin at the same time that another hand touched it. 

"Oh, sorry," came the accented voice. 

Elizabeth turned. Dr. Zelenka had relinquished his hold on the solitary blueberry muffin. He paused, pushing his glasses back up his nose. 

"No, you may have it," said Elizabeth. 

"No, I insist," he replied, switching his glance to the meager selection of other artificially flavored muffins that had been baked up for breakfast in the mess hall. 

Elizabeth smiled, then took the muffin and its tiny plate and deposited them in the middle of Zelenka's tray. 

"This is not that 'contagion' thing, is it?" he pondered suspiciously. 

"Contagion?" Elizabeth was perplexed. 

"Poison ivy," he answered wearily. 

"You're actually looking very good considering what an extensive case you had." Elizabeth could see the faint redness on his face, but he looked nowhere near as ghastly as he had during those first few days he'd been back in Atlantis. The bruising on his cheek was basically gone now. 

"I am sorry," he apologized. "You would be amazed at how many rationally-minded, rather intelligent people felt I would be contagious." 

"It's a common misperception," she remarked. She plucked another muffin from the countertop. It looked like it was cranberry, but it could be anything, but when it came down to it, they all tasted somewhat artificial and alike. 

"I heard rumors," said Zelenka, arching eyebrows dramatically and looking around as though he might be spilling state secrets. "That perhaps we may be receiving some fresh berries from the mainland." 

"Real food," she said, then caught herself as she'd almost slipped into a dreamlike daze at the thought of actual fruit again. "Yes, I suppose you heard that from Halling when he came by with his poison ivy remedy." 

"Yes," acknowledged Zelenka. "It helped immensely." 

"Dr. Beckett was a bit hesitant at first but he told me he honestly didn't have enough calamine lotion to handle your case," she said. The expedition was prepared for gunshot injuries, burns and infections, but not for poison ivy. 

Zelenka smiled as he grabbed a small box that contained some kind of artificial fruit juice. "It is all done now, fortunately." 

Elizabeth had planned on taking her muffin and coffee substitute and heading back to her office to plow headfirst into the waiting backlog of paperwork, but instead decided to grab a table out on the balcony. "Care to join me?" she asked Zelenka. 

The scientist looked startled, but grabbing a quick cup of the hot beverage to add to his tray, he settled down across the small table from her and bit into his muffin. "I miss real blueberries." 

Elizabeth slathered some fake butter on her muffin. "Well, we all knew going into this mission there would be some concessions." 

"Ah, yes," he admitted. 

"Your mission report made for some interesting reading." Elizabeth looked out over the ocean. She'd awoken early, so the sun's morning rays were saturating the ocean with gorgeous shade of pinks and oranges. It was sights like this, full of beauty and hope, which made the Atlantis expedition so worthwhile. 

"You read it all?" 

"I'm obligated to," she smiled, sipping at her cup. It was weak. The cook was rationing out the substitute now as supplies were once again running low. Rodney was not going to be happy at this new development. "Some of it, well, it was a bit technical." 

"The 'boring' parts, as Major Sheppard referred to them," said Zelenka knowingly. 

Elizabeth nodded, aware that she was not insulting the scientist in any manner. That's just the way things were. "Although we did have time to talk when I visited in the infirmary," she began. "I do want to thank you for saving the major." 

Bits of blueberry muffin scattered across the table as Zelenka fumbled briefly with the item. Elizabeth smiled cautiously as his discomfort was rather obvious. The Czech was not one to rush in order to stand out in the limelight, preferring to do his work quietly and efficiently in the background. 

"He helped as well," pointed out Zelenka quickly. "Without him, neither of us would have made it back alive." 

She knew that, but also knew that without a doubt, Sheppard had been in no condition to make it back to the gate on his own. The major had thanked Zelenka several times for dragging him across the flooded forest. 

"It was mutual effort," insisted Zelenka. 

She'd read the report, more than once. Sheppard had annotated the scientist's report, explaining that his report would have been incredibly short otherwise. He slipped away from military protocol in a few instances, stating that it was really fortunate that Zelenka hadn't been military, otherwise he would have obeyed Sheppard's foggy order to leave him on the floor of the compound, to go back and get help if it was available. Carson had explained that those additional hours could easily have cost Sheppard his life. 

"Agreed," she conceded, but it would not stop her from pushing one particular piece of paperwork to the top of her stack. 

"He mentioned that perhaps one day he might do the 'director's cut' of that report," remarked Zelenka. He drained the contents of the small juice box. "Rodney brought back some fascinating data from the Ancient compound." 

"Yes, he's been sending me some rather detailed reports," admitted Elizabeth. 

"It is difficult to tell at the moment if we will find anything beneficial within that data to assist in our fight against the Wraith." Zelenka paused, his brow furrowing before he looked up at Weir. "However, it cannot hurt to look." 

"No, definitely not." Elizabeth hoped that they would find something. Her mind wandered slightly. She hadn't been very keen on the idea of bringing back live animals from that world, but the nearly paranoid precautions which had been taken in regards to their new home in a high level biohazard containment lab convinced her, Beckett, Bates – who had a surprisingly vast knowledge of containment procedures – and even Sheppard, that it would be safe. Not that anyone would see the major within a hundred yards of that lab. 

"Best part is that we are alive," grinned Zelenka. "And that when I walked into Rodney's lab last night, he and the major were having an argument." 

Elizabeth felt a surge of anxiety. She'd thought that the problem with the second mission had been settled. In the days since the final mission, Sheppard had actually had a couple of sessions with Kate, and as a result of that and no disasters from the second mission, his mind was finally at ease. 

"Over the virtues of Ding-Dongs versus Ho-Hos." 

"Pardon?" Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief. 

"I know," agreed Zelenka to her obvious body language. "Everybody knows that Suzy Q's are far superior." 

Elizabeth laughed. 

**PART 71**

Sheppard slowed down from his jog, then stopped for a moment. Checking his pulse, he knew he'd done better in the past, but he was still recovering from the parasites' effect and all that time of enforced bed rest. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat, and his normally unruly hair had flattened down, but it felt so good to be active again; to have the blood coursing through his veins and feel his lungs hungry for air, but not in a bad way. 

Beckett had given him the a-okay to get back to an exercise regimen as long as he didn't overdo it. Remarkably, he resisted the urge to push himself too far, knowing that if he slid back, it would be that much longer till the physician let him go back out on missions and he was itching - in the figurative sense - to get off-world again. 

He settled into a walk, and realized a moment later that he wasn't far from McKay's lab. Maybe he'd drop by, see what the scientist was up to and while there, steal a cold drink or whatever that McKay had stashed in that little fridge hidden in his lab. 

When Sheppard turned the corner, he was surprised to see McKay, Zelenka, Branford and even Beckett, all clustered around a table in the lab. There were indistinct murmurs from the intellectual crowd, but something else as well, that filled the air. 

"Did I just hear what I _thought_ I heard?" 

McKay turned around, astonished. "You can actually recognize the sound?" 

"Rodney, I got nailed in that field several times." Sheppard wiped some sweat off his brow as he entered the lab. "You don't forget. Why the hell do you have one?" He stared at the miniature tabletop version of a pseudo-gate, with that wretched red field shimmering inside the structure. "Wait a sec - that thing stops parasites. You don't--" 

"Don't have a conniption, major," McKay looked smug. "We just readjusted the parameters. No parasites required." 

Sheppard studied the device with a worried expression. "Then what are you doing with it?" 

"Experimenting, what else?" remarked Zelenka. 

"We also plan to utilize it with our test subjects," added Branford happily. 

"Those damned rabbit things?" Sheppard still detested the fact that the scientists had brought back live animals. 

"Getting back to reality," interrupted McKay, waving his hand at some alien items on the table near the field. "We've discovered why you never found that room with the body until right before you left." 

Sheppard waited. "And?" 

"The parasite," answered McKay. "Hologram-man, as you called him, rigged the door. You could touch the access panels on the outside wall but not activate the opening mechanism as long as you were infected. If you had somehow bypassed the panels, you would have been zapped with another force field." 

Sheppard pondered it a second. Sure would have saved the time going to the gate to zap himself, but he certainly wasn't going to admit that aloud. 

"But by that time you did open it, you were parasite-free so your Ancient gene activated the panel, so, voila!" concluded McKay. 

"Yeah, we fell in on our butts," recalled Sheppard, and not fondly. "Why the hell did he do that?" 

"Because one of his fellow expedition members, as far as we can extrapolate from Hologram-man's notes," answered McKay, "was going a bit whacko and maybe homicidal from the parasites getting into his brain." 

Sheppard glared at McKay. "Didn't you get the memo where I stated categorically that 'brain' and 'parasite' were not to be used in the same sentence?" 

McKay cocked his head, like some stupid dog. "Yes, I recall that. I deleted it." 

An objection nearly fell off Sheppard's tongue but he swallowed it instead. He shook his head, pushed past the cluster of scientists and reached into the rear of a shelf. 

"Hey!" protested McKay. 

Sheppard extracted a nice medium sized Gatorade from the tiny fridge in back. He twisted off the cap and took a long swig. "Just don't stick your finger in it," he warned as he strolled past the aggrieved scientist. 

"What did it feel like?" Branford's voice. Geez, why couldn't scientists just take someone's word for it? 

Sheppard looked around the lab, his eyes settling on a metal stool. "See that?" The men all nodded. "If I pick that up, and smash you in the face. Well, that's about how it felt." 

"I'll pass," gulped the younger man. 

"Smart move," Sheppard nodded as he left the room, but once outside in the corridor, he slowed his pace as loud voices carried out. 

"Don't be daft, Rodney," argued Beckett. "That's a dangerous thing ye got there." 

"Sheppard survived it just fine," countered McKay. "This model is--" 

"Hardly, those wee beasties might have been stunned every time the major hit the force field," said Beckett, "but I've no doubt that repeated contact with the field would have eventually killed the major." 

Sheppard nearly choked on a swallow. Damn. 

"It's not like I - OW!" 

Sheppard turned on his heel, about to run back when he heard a steady stream of invectives emanating from the lab, all in McKay's loud angry voice. If the man could swear, he was awake; ergo, he was alive. Sheppard paused, listening as everybody else in the room starting yelling. Rodney knew Russian? Well, he said he'd been in that country briefly. But the worst thing was the loud Scottish brogue that drowned out everybody else. Oh, nothing worse than a doctor who catches you damaging yourself. 

A lazy grin touched Sheppard's parched lips as he finished off the rest of the bottle. At least now, Beckett would leave him alone, now that he had a new patient. 

**PART 72**

Inventory. 

A dreaded word for any physician, or perhaps anybody in general, but the chore had to be done and, as Chief Medical Officer, he had assist and sign off on the tedious but necessary results. He only wished he could restock on low supplies; one of these days they'd run out of something vital, and he dreaded that day. 

Yet on the other hand, the monotonous process beat, hands down, dealing with alien parasites and Wraith stun victims. McKay hadn't even needed medical attention after his foolish accident when he'd mistakenly brushed his hand into the miniature force field he'd created in his lab. 

He had no patients and everything had been quiet now for days. Major Sheppard had rebounded very well and was now cleared for active duty. The infirmary was silent, save for the occasional sound of his staff plodding along in their dreary task of doing inventory. 

What more could a man ask? 

"Carson!" 

Beckett winced, looking past his number-laden computer screen to a darkened monitor on another counter. Its screen reflected back the image of Dr. Waller. 

He'd thought that both Rudy and his protégée Dr. Branford would never leave that biohazard area. They'd been in there for days, except for sleeping and eating, since returning from that accursed planet. He'd rather hoped they'd stay down there with those creatures they'd brought back. 

"Rudy," Beckett responded, turning back to his computer. "What brings you back up to the land of the living?" _Please do not ask for supplies. We'll have to do a recount._

"We need to use your scanners," replied Waller seriously. "And can you round up Pearson and Biro, too?" 

Beckett swiveled around on his chair. "Why on earth do you need a radiologist and a pathologist--?" He stopped short in horror. "Bloody hell, why did you bring them here?" 

The Scotsman was just glad that Major Sheppard was not there at that very moment to see that Waller and Branford had brought both the alien rabbits into the infirmary. 

"Are you daft?" exclaimed Beckett. 

The rabbits were both encased in clear Plexiglass biohazard containers, but it was obvious that one of them was no longer a true threat. Its dissected body was splayed out on a tray against the clear bottom. 

Beckett came over, studying the carcass with a feeling of apprehension. "Did it die?" 

"No, euthanized. We needed extensive brain tissue samples," said Waller. "Before you burst a blood vessel, Carson, you need to see what this is all about." Waller set down the live animal in his containment unit on the floor, then brought over a tiny laptop and opened it up. 

"What am I looking at?" Beckett asked. When no answer was forthcoming, he held back an annoyed remark, settling for a grunt instead, and scrolled through the data. Images, words and graphs. It reminded him of his university biology courses, until he saw the microscopic images that made his blood run cold. 

Beckett turned to Waller, then looked in alarm at the dead creature. Waller simply nodded, and that single act was all Beckett needed. 

"The original scans we took didn't show any of this. "Beckett stared at the circular images on the screen as Waller continued talking. "Those had to be there when we caught the animals. Since they seem to be attracted to a vascular environment, we wanted to run a scan, with dye, on the other subject." 

Beckett changed his anxious glance to the live rabbit, which was sitting there quietly, munching on what looked like half a PowerBar, oblivious of the terror its presence was invoking. 

"D'ye think they'll show up with the dye?" 

"Yes," said Branford. "We've already run some preliminary tests and the cysts light up like the 4th of July with the dye. If the second subject has them, we'll know." 

Beckett quickly put in calls for Biro and Pearson, as well as a few other personnel whom he knew could be of assistance. The sooner the better, in his estimation. 

"And the subjects exhibit no symptoms?" Beckett stared grimly at the tiny orbs on the screen, seeing the images of his colleagues, both shaking their heads, reflected back to him. 

"Dr. Beckett?" Branford looked distressed. "Where is Major Sheppard?" 

Beckett shut his eyes. Oh God. 

**PART 73**

No more antibiotics. No more I.V.s. No more Beckett saying "Just one more scan, major." He'd start to glow if they scanned him anymore. And definitely no more of that damned Athosian tofu. Cleared for duty. "Go off-world but try not to get shot on the first day," Beckett had warned lightly. Nearly three whole weeks trapped on Atlantis but now he was free. 

Sheppard grinned as he studied the various instrumentation lighting up at his touch on the puddle jumper's panel in front of him. Heck, if he'd been standing at the moment, he would have rocked on his heels in anticipation of this trip to S27 3L9, or Bennar, as the locals called it.. Finally, going back through the gate, getting off-world, and not just hanging around on base going stir-crazy. 

Teyla had re-established contact with some old trading partners. Nice, peaceful folk, but not like the Genii, who had been duplicitous to the point they could now be classified as a mortal enemy for all the damage they'd done. The mission should be a cake-walk. Simple meet and greet. Chat a little. Maybe get a snack or two. No nasty bio-engineered parasites lurking in their ecosystem. 

"Anxious to go back through the gate, sir?" Ford's voice came from behind. Sheppard turned to the man seated behind him. "Just a little, lieutenant. Been cooped up here far too long." Ford just grinned, that bright, eager smile Sheppard remembered from the first time they'd gone through the gate on Earth to the Pegasus Galaxy. 

"Well, I'm looking forward to some of that latva bread." McKay smiled broadly from the co-pilot's seat that he'd quickly commandeered, much to Ford's dismay. 

"Always thinking of food," drawled Sheppard, although Teyla's description of the hearty bread had made him salivate as well. 

"This from a man who, not long ago, was willing to sell his soul for a PowerBar," reminded McKay. 

"Not just a PowerBar," countered Sheppard. "An oatmeal raisin one. Which, by the way, you didn't get me." 

Everything was back to normal, at least as normal as it could get in a galaxy where your welcome wagon was a bunch of life-sucking vampire ghouls. Beckett had removed the cast off McKay's leg earlier in the week and had approved him for the mission as long as he didn't have to run a four-minute mile. "I just don't want him coming back whining, that's all," Beckett had commented wryly. 

Normally casts like that just got tossed but Sheppard had heard scuttlebutt that Rodney had saved it somewhere because of all the signatures. 

"Puddle jumper one, the mission's scrubbed," Grodin's voice suddenly erupted over the radio. 

"Now what?" grumbled McKay, fixing a worried stare on Sheppard. 

"Elizabeth," Sheppard asked. "What's going on?" 

There was a moment of silence before Weir replied, an undertone of apprehension evident in her voice. "John. Dr. Beckett needs you to report to the infirmary. Now." 

"Crap," muttered Sheppard, trying to ignore all the worried eyes now scrutinizing him. Trying to ignore the alarm bells ringing in his head as to why Beckett needed to see him. 

**PART 74**

"I'm not a neurosurgeon, Carson." Josh Levin studied a scan on the computer screen. His dark brows drew together as he stood next to a counter in the infirmary. "Even if I was, if he's anything like this… it would be impossible to handle on a surgical level. In case like this, we'd need a vascular specialist at the very least to handle those clusters, but we're talking microscopic…" Levin just shook his head dismally. 

Beckett sighed heavily. Levin was their trauma surgeon, best equipped to handle anything that required the sharp blade of a scalpel, but this was beyond his means, perhaps any surgeon's means. And worse, their medications were limited. 

Sheppard barged into the infirmary with all the grace of the proverbial bull in a china shop. 

"Beckett, this had better be good." The major hadn't even bothered to ditch his P-90, which was still clipped to his tactical vest. He stopped right in front of the two doctors and glared at them. "Well?" 

"Major, you might want to have a seat." Beckett gestured at a nearby chair. 

"Not enough blood samples?" Sheppard commented. "Or do you need another scan?" He looked riled up. He held up a hand, putting forefinger to thumb with a small gap in between the two digits. "I was this close to going through the gate when you pulled the plug." 

Beckett noticed the rest of Sheppard's team appear in the infirmary, stopping just short behind the man. All of them looked anxious, except for Sheppard, although Beckett began to think that the major was letting anger rule him so it would submerge any fears that had to be fighting to surface. 

Branford stepped forward. "The rabbit died," he said succinctly. 

Sheppard frowned in what looked like utter confusion, then turned to McKay. "That's the punch line, right? I seemed to have missed the joke. Did you hear it, Rodney?" 

McKay shook his head, but kept his eyes focused unerringly on Beckett. He knew something was dreadfully wrong. 

"As everyone knows, we brought back some of the indigenous animals for testing, so we could study the parasites' effect on them," said Branford. 

"Remember, I voted a big fat no on that," said Sheppard. 

"I remember," said Beckett. It was, in fact, hard to forget the choice words the pilot had used at one point to vent his feelings on the matter. 

Branford continued his explanation, but Beckett knew that for Sheppard, it was simply delaying the inevitable. "We've run a number of tests, and it seems that the mammals on the planet, from what we can ascertain, probably all contain the parasite but for some reason, it doesn't run rampant in their bodies, like it did with Major Sheppard." 

"Just cut to the chase. We have a mission to go on," interrupted Sheppard sharply. 

"The antibiotic definitely kills the parasite in both human and animal hosts," continued Branford, unnerved under Sheppard's harsh glare, "although the animals didn't suffer the deleterious effects the major did due to the massive infestation he experienced." 

Beckett watched as Sheppard grimaced at that statement. 

"We discovered some abnormalities in the first rabbit." 

Sheppard looked definitely unhappy. 

"It showed up in the necropsy, but not on the original scans or MRIs, so we ran the second animal through a CT scan with contrast dye, which revealed that the antibiotic kills the parasite but not the cysts," Branford finished quietly. 

"Cysts?" asked Sheppard slowly. "You mean like tumors?" 

"Like eggs," clarified Branford reluctantly. Beckett watched the color drain from Sheppard's face at that revelation. His teammates closed in around the major protectively, as if sensing his horror and vulnerability, but nothing they could do would help the major. 

"The cysts are viable." 

McKay gulped audibly. "You mean they'll--" 

Beckett nodded. "They can hatch." 

Sheppard unconsciously grabbed his now-healed arm with a hand, gripping it, perhaps reliving a bad memory. "Where…?" He paused, fighting to keep his voice calm. "Where are these cysts located?" 

"In the brain," replied Branford reluctantly 

Sheppard couldn't have looked any worse than if someone had sucker-punched him with a sledgehammer. Teyla grabbed the chair that Sheppard had refused to sit in earlier and positioned it behind him. It took just one gentle press of her hand on his shoulder and he crumpled into the chair. 

"You're saying that I could have alien eggs inside my head that could turn into those parasites?". 

"It's a maybe, major. A _big_ maybe," Beckett said encouragingly, hoping to God he was right in his belief. "The parasites' behavior seems different in the lower animals than it does in humans, so for all we know, you're totally free of them." 

"But if these cyst things are alive, why didn't the force field stop them?" asked Ford. 

"Because maybe the Ancient who created the field did so with very specific parameters," theorized McKay. "Maybe they didn't know about the cysts, given the Ancients' short lifespan after being infected, or maybe when they're in that form, they're dormant. They don't register on that detector device, like hibernating Wraith don't show up on the Life Signs Detector." 

"Great, now I've got Wraith eggs inside my skull." Sheppard leaned forward, dread evident in his voice and posture as he put his face in his hands. McKay began to reach out a comforting hand, but withdrew it when Sheppard abruptly sat back in the chair. He looked weary, almost accepting of his potential fate. "What are my options, Carson? Do I even _have_ any options?" 

"We'll run a scan with contrast dye," replied Beckett. "We need to determine, well, if there is…" 

"An infestation?" Sheppard finished in a flat tone. 

"Yes." Beckett grimaced. "If so, we'd start with a drug regimen." 

"And if that doesn't work?" asked Sheppard. "Surgery?" 

Beckett just shook his head in response. 

"When can you do this scan?" Sheppard unclipped his P-90 and handed it off to Ford. "The sooner the better." 

"We need to prep you first," spoke up Levin. "The contrast dye adds additional steps to the procedure. Do you have any allergies to iodine?" 

Sheppard shook his head slowly. "Not that I know of." 

"Good." Levin sounded happy but he was the only one who looked remotely positive. 

Sheppard handed off his weapons belt to Ford, then his tactical vest. He knew the drill, and sadly, knew that until the situation was rectified one way or the other, he wasn't leaving the infirmary. Beckett felt a twinge of pain at this sight, wishing if anything to have the old Sheppard back, the one whom the physician had to yell at to make him stay put and obey simple orders. 

The pilot locked sorrowful hazel eyes with Beckett's. "Just how many cysts did ole Fluffy have in his gray matter?" 

Beckett and Branford exchanged a dark glance before he replied. "Hundreds." 

**PART 75**

"If Dr. Branford hadn't'a brought back those test animals, we wouldn't'a even known," Beckett replied to Elizabeth's question of why the cysts hadn't been detected beforehand. "And if the major does have them and they… it could'a wiped out all of Atlantis." 

Elizabeth looked sadly through the glass partition to the small room beyond, where Sheppard lay on a hospital gurney. The reddish-purple scrubs were a stark contrast to the gray uniforms of his teammates, who sat around the prone man, trying in vain to offer support. 

She turned back to Beckett and Branford, clutching her arms tight to her chest, but finding no comfort in that action. Both men looked appalled at what they'd discovered in the animals and what now, god forbid, might be alive inside Sheppard. How much more hell did the major have to endure before this ended, she thought morosely, but instead schooled her emotions and asked, "You said the cysts in the rabbit were dormant. Isn't there some drug you can give the major to keep them in that state?" 

Beckett glanced over at Branford, who took the cue. She'd rarely seen the young man before this mission, but now was seeing far too much of him. "To find that particular drug – if we ever have it – might take months. And we'd honestly need a live parasite for the best test results." 

_Not happening_. Elizabeth could still hear Sheppard's tense words in her mind, his opinion of bringing animal life back from the planet. He'd been overridden, and now… 

"And, eventually, the major's immune system will detect the cysts." 

"Isn't that good?" Elizabeth asked of Beckett. 

"No," he replied grimly. "Some parasite cysts throw off proteins to prevent phagocytes from accurately targeting and destroying the cysts. But eventually, the immune system kicks in aggressively, releasing more antibodies and complement proteins. The area around the cysts could become swollen, which could lead to brain tissue compression as well as seizures." Beckett grimaced as he continued. "As the immune system response progresses, scar tissue and calcium deposits will result. They can cause seizures, and continued immune response could cause irreparable brain damage." 

Elizabeth couldn't believe what she was hearing. 

"And," Branford spoke up. "Some cysts attach to the brain tissue itself, which causes seizures. Others go for the brain-fluid cavities, which can cause headaches, nausea, dizziness and even an altered mental state, such as hallucinations, as well as seizures." 

"Surgery?" Elizabeth hoped. 

"We're shy of neurosurgeons here on Atlantis," replied Beckett regretfully. "If, and I repeat if, the major's brain looks anything like those rabbits, then no. It would be inoperable. Drug therapy would be our only course of action." 

"And I thought the Goa'uld were bad," Elizabeth said to herself. 

"Ironically enough, if I had a Goa'uld symbiote here and the Tollan technology to extract the bastard…" Beckett paused. "God forbid, if the major had the cysts, I'd think of using one of those hideous things on the major." 

Elizabeth shut her eyes for a moment, steeling her resolve. She understood his intent. A Goa'uld, a parasite itself, would eradicate the cysts and anything else that stood in the way of having a healthy host body. 

"It's that bad?" 

Beckett almost nodded. "Even if the cysts remained dormant, he'd be grounded. He could be prone to seizures or worse if we can't eradicate the cysts. Even then, unless we got a 100 handle on the parasite's physiology, the major would have to be put into quarantine." 

_Oh god. John could never return to Earth, never fly again_, Elizabeth realized. 

"If the parasites abruptly hatched, especially in a synchronous manner, it could be a hazard to anyone around him," continued Beckett. "It could also produce permanent damage, or even a fatal stroke." 

"Does he know all this?" 

"No," said Beckett. "He's got enough on his plate as it 'tis, and he didn't want all the details. I dare say he's got a vivid enough imagination from all those horror movies he enjoys watching." 

Beckett watched as Teyla placed her hand against Sheppard's arm, trying to offer comfort. "This is the worst case scenario, Elizabeth," he said, trying to smile, but failing. "It's very possible the major is totally free of any cysts." 

"But we aren't having good luck lately, are we?" observed Elizabeth dismally. 

"I'm afraid not." Beckett knew what she meant. The nanovirus accidentally unearthed on Atlantis had killed five of their own people. 

"When will you know?" 

"It will take a few hours." 

Those hours would be long, but she knew that for John Sheppard, it would be an eternity. 

PART 76 

Sheppard turned the alien device over in his hands as he lay against the all-too familiar gurney. The blue outline was calming, like a slow, languid tide lapping up against an empty beach, but the anxiety that a red dot would suddenly appear on the tiny screen hovered in his mind like a spectral ghoul. All the worry he'd felt from the time on the planet, and over McKay's team befalling the same fate he'd narrowly escaped, had finally dissipated. The nightmares had vanished, but now… it was all rushing back like a surging tidal wave. 

Too bad the damned device didn't have a buzzer. It required constant skin contact to work. If he had the cysts, he'd have to duct tape it to himself as an alert if a parasite hatched. God. 

The dreary realization that he'd probably never get any more decent sleep, without the help of a sedative, scared him. 

"You know, you're not accomplishing much sitting here." Sheppard's eyes were glued to the device's screen, like some kid addicted to a Gameboy. 

"We don't mind, major," said Ford. 

"Remember, a watched brain never bursts," quipped Sheppard. 

"Major!" McKay was appalled. 

"Chill out, Rodney." _And please go away,_ Sheppard implored silently. The old adage of 'misery loves company' was a joke. That's only if you wanted to make everyone else miserable. He didn't. 

Ford looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to be anywhere else but there, but he was doing his duty and sticking by his commander. McKay? The Canadian looked ready to stroke out from the stress, and since he was a scientist, Sheppard bet the man knew a heckuva lot more about the parasites than he was letting on, which would account for his nervous twitches. Beckett? The man was holding back; he was a lousy liar, but Sheppard didn't want to press for the gory details. 

"I am sure that there will be no reason to worry." 

The voice was comforting, and if anybody else had made such a placating statement, Sheppard would have shot back with a sarcastic 'easy for you to say.' However, Teyla had a way of assuaging the worst situation with a few simple words. On the other hand, if you were a jerk, she could make you feel like the lowest piece of slime that just crawled out from under a rock, by simply altering her tone of voice. It was no wonder she'd ended up the leader of her people. 

"You should all go on the mission," said Sheppard. 

"Sir, we—" began Ford. 

"To PL2 land-of-latva-bread," continued Sheppard. 

"The mission can wait." Teyla smiled slightly. 

"You told Aspon we were coming," reminded Sheppard. "Shouldn't stand him up. We might get a bad reputation." Sheppard put down the parasite detector against his chest. His eyes were going to burn out if he didn't stop staring at the device. 

"Yes, but—" 

"That's an order." Sheppard glared at his team, but his heart wasn't in it, and they knew it. "It's not like we can go off to a 7-11 and get take-out. We need to establish trading partners. Besides, this test stuff is gonna take hours." 

And he didn't want everybody staring at him with pity for that long. 

"If you are certain," said Teyla. 

"Yes, but if I see _one_ toothmark of McKay's in that latva loaf you're gonna bring back for me," threatened Sheppard in mock anger, "then things could be mighty ugly." 

"I'll make sure, sir," Ford said obediently. 

"You do that," confirmed Sheppard. 

It took only a minute for Sheppard to contact Sergeant Markham and line him up for the pilot's seat. McKay was becoming a decent pilot, but he was stressed right now, and having a fourth on the team couldn't hurt. They needed to get away and not dwell. Bad enough he was dwelling on the worst. 

It was several more minutes before he was finally able to force his team to leave. They were reluctant to go, but he needed the solitude badly. 

Once they were gone, and the only noise was the faint voices of various medical personnel in the other room, Sheppard drew an arm across his eyes, blocking out the light. 

These might be the last few minutes of peace he'd ever have. 

**PART 77**

Zelenka leaned back in his chair, sipping lazily at the hot brew in a cup as the computer ran some lengthy calculations on the latest piece of Ancient technology they'd unearthed. 

A week in the infirmary had made him appreciate his laboratory, and those few days off-world had done wonders for his grumblings about never getting enough 'real' fresh air. No, going out on a balcony would now do quite nicely. He would not complain about missing out on the excitement of off-world trips ever again! He wasn't totally against another trip, but never, never again would he set foot in an alien rainforest. 

He liked the quiet. It gave him time to think. While he'd had a steady stream of visitors while laid up in the infirmary, it was nice to actually be left alone now. 

Some of his colleagues had been by the lab, wondering how on earth he'd endured being stuck in a bed next to Sheppard. To many scientists, they knew that the military used them as a tool to accomplish a goal. Major Sheppard was not above that himself, but the difference was that he appreciated those who helped him and treated them as equals, not slaves. Sheppard cared about those around him, to the point he would willingly sacrifice his own safety. 

No matter how much some of his scientists felt that he had gone through the most hellish experience of his life, Zelenka knew that he would take away some very good memories as well. 

He'd felt a tinge of envy at one point, as the major lay unconscious and his teammates came to visit him, talking to him about nothing important but just speaking so that he'd know they were there for him. He wondered if Sheppard truly realized how much he meant to his friends, especially Rodney, and not because of his military acumen or his Ancient gene. No, the major was a lucky man, in more ways than one. 

Zelenka drained the last of the brew. He had no idea why Rodney complained about it as the drink possessed a strong nutty taste. 

No, the best of all today was the absence of one Dr. Rodney McKay. The man had become insufferable since returning unscathed from that planet. Never mind that Dr. Beckett had worked and fretted around the clock to insure no more infestations or infections for the second mission. If Rodney had returned with a working ZPM, well, then, he might actually think about begging for a vacation to the mainland until Rodney's ego deflated to a manageable size. Of course, he'd ask to be kept away from Spiven. He didn't need to get punched out for not answering an email quick enough. 

The only truly gleeful thing about Rodney lately was that the man was still flummoxed by what Zelenka had written on his cast. Of course, if he'd actually written it in Czech, and not gibberish, Rodney might have more luck in deciphering it. 

Zelenka's radio chirped. He tapped on it. "Zelenka here." 

"Dr. Zelenka." 

"Dr. Weir, a pleasant surprise." His smile faltered drastically as she explained her grim reason for calling. 

**PART 78**

Sheppard poked at the inside of his elbow, studying the tiny red dot on the skin as he pulled aside the small ball of cotton wadding. He'd really thought that the days of a smiling nurse approaching him with one of those syringe things and a rubber tie were done and over with, but apparently not. 

Beckett or one of his buddies needed more blood for more tests, and he knew it wouldn't be long before someone else would come along to inject his veins with some toxic glowing dye so they could light up his brain like the Las Vegas strip. 

The least they could do for all these constant blood withdrawals is give him some cookies. The Red Cross always did. 

But Beckett had shaken his head sorrowfully. "No food." 

Wondering what they were doing with his blood kept his mind busy for a little while, but then he always came back full circle to the reason why he was flat on his back on a gurney. 

Parasite cysts. Eggs, or what had Branford called them? Oocysts. With two O's, not one. And then, as he'd noticed scientists were prone to do, Branford then rattled on about some earth-based parasite cyst, that within its four-day life cycle, could easily produce more than a million new cysts. At that point, Sheppard had sucked in a deep breath, stared directly at Beckett while patently ignoring the younger parasite expert who stood next to the Scotsman, and announced that he would go down to the armory, get a .9mm, and after that, he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions because he had millions of 'occysts' in his brain so he wasn't thinking clearly. 

Branford had blanched to the same shade of provolone cheese and hastily retreated back to another more secure area of the infirmary. Beckett had been unusually tolerant about a patient making homicidal overtures toward a staff member, which made Sheppard wonder just how bad it truly was. 

Sheppard shut his eyes. 

So much for getting some time to himself. 

Or zoning out into some empty, serene plain of existence. 

So he'd decided to dwell on the worst case scenarios, like parasites eating up his brain, or bursting out of his head in some gooey mess, but after a while concluded that the worst option would be the least painful one. In an odd sense, massive brain hemorrhage or toxic poisoning from parasite overdose seemed acceptable to losing his mind. He couldn't help think of Pete Linsky, a tall, gawky kid back in high school. He'd only met Pete's mother a few times, but Pete said she was a little 'scatter-brained, but that's mom for you.' But then it got worse, as she forgot the days, would pick up Pete from a sports event on the weekend that had happened days before, and eventually, she forgot Pete. She got shipped off to some hospital. Of course, now, Alzheimer's was a known disease, but still, its effects had been devastating on Pete's family. 

Death by Wraith seemed far preferable to losing his mind one chunk at a time and everybody knowing about it except him. Or going nuts like that guy who had trashed the Ancient compound. Of course, he might not be thinking all this crap if he hadn't overheard someone mention the phrases 'brain damage' and 'altered personality.' 

On the flip side, maybe he was totally clear of parasite cysts. He'd been given so many antibiotics since stepping foot on that damned planet that he'd thought his stomach would never recover. Since half the doctors were talking about how the parasites acted differently in lower mammals, this could all be just one huge mistake, no doubt worthy of a huge lawsuit for mental stress if he were back on earth as he might be maxing out a credit right about now on stupid things. 

He sure as hell hoped it was much ado about nothing. 

Sheppard sighed. Maybe he could try to relax before Beckett came back, but then, he sensed a presence nearby. Damn.

* * *

At first McKay thought Ford was going to be a gung-ho I'm-not-screwing-up-my-promotion-chances commander and force him aboard the jumper, but after the second pitiful excuse, where McKay had practically flinchd after the words had escaped his lips, Ford had capitulated – far too easily. 

Then he'd seen the look in Ford's eyes. In Teyla's eyes. 

They wished they could stay behind, too, but they'd promised the major they would complete the mission. 

McKay had stood silently at the end of the room, watching Sheppard just lie there, motionless on top of the gurney. He wasn't sure if the major was asleep or not. Maybe it was better if he was asleep. McKay knew that he was pretty useless in the sitting-by-the-bedside-of-a-dying-person making-useless-chatter stuff, as he'd never really done it before. 

Well, no, he had done it once as a kid when his sister had been really, really sick and he'd thought she was dying, but instead, she recovered quite nicely and he'd caught her flu bug and was laid up for over a week. 

McKay approached the gurney. Sheppard suddenly hugged his arms to himself. "Go away," he ordered. 

"Uh," replied McKay lamely. "The jumper's already left the building." 

Sheppard's eyes shot open and he studied McKay with a strangely quizzical look. "I'm going to have to talk to Ford about letting scientists get their way." 

McKay spotted a stool and dragged it up beside the gurney, than sat down, feeling exhausted. 

"Thought you were that nurse coming back for more blood," Sheppard explained, rubbing at his arm. "Why aren't you on the mission?" 

McKay paused, his mind running over the horrible excuses he'd foisted upon Ford, knowing that Sheppard sure as hell wouldn't accept them, so, he settled for a half-truth. "Me. Trapped inside a jumper. Loads of latva bread. Just be crumbs left." 

"Those rumors about you being a human Hoover are greatly exaggerated," countered Sheppard lightly. 

McKay smiled a little. "Nice to know that someone knows the truth." 

"Yeah, you're more like a dustbuster," added Sheppard. 

"Very funny," shot back McKay. 

Sheppard stared up at the ceiling. "I thought so." 

Silence permeated the room like a suffocating shroud. McKay clenched his hands together. What had he been thinking? He didn't know what to talk about. He was pretty positive that discussing the parasite was the last thing Sheppard wanted to hear. This kind of waiting was reserved for loved ones. He knew he didn't fall into that category. He wasn't family, although, if someone pinned him down and repeatedly stuck bamboo shoots under his fingernails to make him talk, he would admit that yes, Sheppard would have been the kind of brother he'd like to have had. Someone who at least understood him to a degree, who put up with him when no one else would and, he'd like to think, someone who might give a damn when he finally died. 

"Ow!" McKay rubbed his shoulder where Sheppard had just smacked him. "What was that for?" 

"Because you weren't listening to a word I was saying and that looking gloomy and introspective just doesn't suit you, Rodney," explained Sheppard bluntly. "I'm not dead so stop thinking about it." 

"I wasn't," replied McKay testily. 

"So, what did you really think of that planet?" Sheppard asked abruptly. "Beyond that dry reading you put in your report." 

"Rainforest world?" McKay watched Sheppard roll his head toward him, brow crinkling in disdain. "I can see why you banned Ford from naming things," commented McKay weakly. "It was wet. Very wet. I'm beginning to think we're just not visiting the right worlds. Too wet, too dry." 

"Or they've got Wraith," added Sheppard. 

"Yeah, sure as hell ruins the property values," joked McKay weakly. 

A heavy silence ensued again. This wasn't working, but what if this was it? The last time they could really talk without the reality of a cyst-ridden brain staring them smack in the face? 

"What I…" McKay paused, wondering if he should proceed. Sheppard shifted his gaze back toward the ceiling, as if he realizing that the scientist didn't quite like being under a microscope. "What I didn't put in the report was that I couldn't get off that planet fast enough." Even the enticement of a ZedPM had lost its sparkling allure after seeing all the dried blood smeared across the floor from where Radek had dragged the major from one room to another. It had looked a murder had happened there. He'd had to bury those too-vivid thoughts, put the interest of the base in the front of his mind, and get down to business – only to find that the damned ZedPM had been intricately booby-trapped. If the rising water hadn't threatened to swamp the compound, he would have stayed longer. 

"Sorry about the ZPM," said Sheppard. He didn't comment on McKay's remark, as well, he hadn't exactly enjoyed the planet either. 

"When the water recedes sometime next year or whatever, maybe we can try going back," muttered McKay, although not very optimistically. "At least Branford was happy with his experiments." McKay cringed, mentally kicking himself for mentioning that. 

"Well, at least it proved that the damned things don't care if it's blood from someone with the Ancient gene or not," said Sheppard in an off-hand manner. McKay didn't bother to nod. He'd included that bit of information in his mission report, which he knew Sheppard had gone over with a fine-tooth comb because he'd made some inane remarks that there was no 'u' in the word color. But Branford had grown a healthy batch of the parasites in both blood bags. Sheppard hadn't been thrilled with that part of the report. The young parasite expert had included the 'headcount' of the parasites and Sheppard could easily do the math, so he'd gotten an extremely good idea of just how infested his body had been with the nasty creatures. 

"And that the Cipro kills them dead," McKay said with a weak smile. 

"But not their kids," said Sheppard darkly. 

"Sorry, sorry," apologized McKay quickly. He was making matters worse. 

"For God's sake, it's not your fault, Rodney," sighed Sheppard, shifting uncomfortably on the gurney. "Just the luck of the draw." 

"Or statistics," came another voice. 

Zelenka pulled up a stool on the other side of the gurney. "I heard the news, major. I am sorry." 

Sheppard smiled briefly toward the Czech. "It's not confirmed." 

"If there is anything I can do," offered Zelenka. 

"Think this is all in Beckett's hands," replied Sheppard. He flashed a half-hearted smile at both men but that didn't last long. "Unless either of you rocket scientists has a solution." 

"We are not medical doctors," Zelenka said apologetically. 

"And it's not a nanovirus, so an EMP would be useless," said McKay sullenly. 

"Radiation?" posed Zelenka. 

"It works on tumors." McKay suddenly saw a light at the end of this long dark tunnel. 

"But these aren't--" Sheppard stopped himself. "If I have them, they're not tumors, they're… cysts." 

"But they are both foreign objects," added Zelenka. "Which radiation could destroy." 

McKay mulled over the idea. "But don't they usually focus the radiation on the tumor? You'd have to irradiate the whole brain, or maybe more. What if these things move around in the--?" McKay's voice faltered as he caught Sheppard eyeing him with a look of revulsion. 

"Like I said, Beckett can handle this," he said tersely. "The two of you would fry my brain to a pile of mush from the sounds of it." 

"Sorry," McKay apologized. 

"It's just that we--" began Zelenka. 

Sheppard cut off Zelenka's words, waving a hand. "I'd just rather talk about anything else." He shut his eyes tight. McKay could only wonder what horrors the major might be pondering. 

"Jane Tenney?" suggested Zelenka curiously. 

"What?" Sheppard's eyes shot wide open in alarm as he choked out the word like it was poison. 

"Who?" McKay was confused. 

Sheppard coughed. "How did you--?" 

"You mentioned her name while we were on the planet," Zelenka explained, looking slightly apologetic. "You said you would rather stick your hand in a…" Zelenka squinted as he tried to remember. "In a hornet's nest, than date her again. Should I not have brought it up?" 

Sheppard covered both eyes with his hands, but then let his arms fall to his side. "Ah hell, why not? But this doesn't go any further than you two, understand?" 

Zelenka nodded. "Agreed." 

Sheppard glared at McKay. "Rodney?" 

What? Did Sheppard think he was going to blab this all over the base? "Yes, fine. Cross my heart, stick a needle in my eye type stuff." 

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," muttered Sheppard. "To make this story really short, back in junior high--" 

"Junior high?" repeated McKay incredulously. 

"Are you going to interrupt all the way through?" questioned Sheppard. 

"No, no. Go ahead," McKay sighed. He didn't care for the disapproving glare he got from Zelenka either. 

"Anyway, I was at Tom Martin's house. We were working on assembling model rockets in the family room when he had go to the basement to get something. So Jane – his sister – comes in and sits next to me on the couch. We start talking and next thing, I know, she put her arm around my shoulders..." Sheppard smiled fondly at the thought. 

Sheppard had to have been what? Ten or twelve or something at the time, mused McKay. So even then, the girls were going after him. Why did this not surprise him? 

"And the out of the blue, her father has his hand snagged in the back of my shirt and he rips me off the couch. Pretty much blew a gasket," recalled Sheppard with a dismayed frown. "Dropped me face down on the floor. So I was thinking okay, this is it; he's going to blow my head off as he did have a gun. He was a staff sergeant, after all." 

"And?" asked Zelenka, leaning forward. 

"Well, obviously he didn't," said McKay with a smirk, "or else we wouldn't be talking with him now." 

"Made me do 100 push-ups, then showed me the door and told me never to touch his daughter again. My arms felt like melted rubber bands for the next couple days." Sheppard grimaced at the memory. "About a week later Tom came over to my house with the rockets and said his sister wanted to know if I wanted to go out on a date." 

"100 push-ups?" Zelenka looked mortified. Even McKay could share that sentiment. 

"Think it was originally 50 but I made the mistake of opening my mouth," winced Sheppard. 

"So?" asked McKay. He knew barely anything about Sheppard's life before Atlantis so this was a bit fascinating. 

Sheppard turned his head and glared incredulously at the scientist. "What do you think, Rodney? Her father was six five and built like a mountain and could pick me up with one hand. I steered the hell away from her." The major's expression mellowed a bit after a moment. "She was cute though. You know," he quickly added, coming back to the present. "For back then, in junior high, of course." 

"Of course," repeated McKay with a faint touch of sarcasm. 

"Always wondered what she was like in high school," Sheppard said aloud, but to no one in particular. "Darned shame her father got transferred out before that." 

"We're ready." 

Even in Atlantis, medical personnel still had the ability to skulk into a room unnoticed. Beckett and a nurse were suddenly there, like shadows evolving out a mist. They positioned themselves on either side of the gurney like sentinels. 

McKay gloomily realized that they were going to take Sheppard off to his tests. The brief trip down memory lane, as well as the respite it had offered, vanished as it was replaced by the stark reality of why they were all waiting. The major became aware of Beckett's presence as well and began to sit up. Beckett gently shoved him back down on the gurney. 

"Beckett, I _can_ walk," groused Sheppard. 

"Aye," agreed the physician. "But let's keep your blood pressure nice and even and besides, I don't get this opportunity very often." 

"To suck blood out of me or scan me?" Sheppard asked in confusion. "I sorta recall a lot of that being done lately." 

"No, major," replied Beckett. "The chance to push you around." 

Sheppard just sagged back further into the gurney, if that were even possible. "So, any last words of wisdom?" He looked directly at McKay. 

_Great. No pressure_, thought McKay nervously. "You know, major, there really is nothing to worry about," he said with a confidence he sorely lacked. 

"And you base this reasoning on?" Sheppard craned his neck around on the gurney as Beckett began to take him away. 

"Everybody knows there's nothing up there." Rodney forced a grin as he tapped at his own skull. "After all, you're in the military." 

Sheppard's voice echoed as the gurney was taken out of sight. "I'm going to remember that remark, Rodney." 

McKay shut his eyes as he felt a headache coming on. Great, now he wasn't sure if Sheppard meant that seriously or if he understood what McKay had been trying to say. He opened his eyes, only to find Zelenka glaring at him like he's just drained all the energy from a ZedPM. 

"Nothing up there?" The Czech sounded annoyed. 

"What?" shot back McKay in an irritated tone. "You know, last week, that joke about military intelligence and — oh, never mind!" McKay almost felt like throwing up his arms in defeat, but instead decided to retreat back to his lab where maybe he could find something – anything – to occupy his mind for the next several hours. 

PART 79 

Several small children ran past, squealing in noisy laughter as an adult shooed them away from their guests. The boys and girls scampered toward the massive field of yellow wheat grain that bordered the Bennaras village. The landscape was a perfect blend of the fields, homes and tall green trees, reminding Teyla of tales of the Spring season when Athos had once flourished. 

Teyla smiled at the children's temporary intrusion into the bartering festivities. The feeling of innocent delight lasted a fleeting moment as she looked across the way to see two young women on either side of Sergeant Markham, both vying for his attention. Part of her felt that she should go over there and warn the young pilot to be careful in what he said, or else he might find himself accidentally betrothed to one of the women. 

But her heart wasn't it. With regret, she wished that Major Sheppard were there with his team. She had no doubt that he would enjoy this world immensely for its people were what they professed to be – a simple agrarian culture. 

"Guess it's a good thing Dr. McKay stayed behind." Lieutenant Ford sat down on the bench next to her, munching carefully on a _stevann_, a rolled sheet of baked _patha_ flour stuffed with various local vegetables. 

Teyla remembered how the scientist had begged off the mission, standing at the bottom of the ramp, staring in trepidation at the interior of the ship as though it were the maw of some gigantic beast. 

"I believe he would have liked these festivities." Food was everywhere. Dr. McKay was predictable in that he always had an appetite. 

_"Uh, bread, wheat, um, allergies, you know, all that pollen. I'd better stay behind." McKay's excuse had been weak, and Lieutenant Ford had not accepted it; he was determined to obey Sheppard's orders. Then, McKay had followed up with a more argumentative reasoning that if for some unexplained reason the jumper failed, he shouldn't be walking all that much distance all that soon. Ford had let him back out at that point. They all knew why he wished to stay and knew he would be miserable throughout the entire mission, and, in turn, he would probably make everyone else miserable as well. _

"Well, the food part," agreed Ford, bringing Teyla back to the present. "But the kids? Not at all. He can't stand 'em." 

She recalled the young lieutenant's vivid tale of how McKay had nearly caused a little girl to cry, and almost got into a fistfight with a five-year-old boy, on the world with a society of young people who committed ritual suicide. 

"I don't believe he dislikes children," she replied softly, watching several children playing in the distance. 

"No," refuted Ford with a smile. "Kids are like cats. My grandma said that cats always know when someone doesn't like them. And they make a beeline for that person and bother the heck out of them." 

Teyla frowned, watching as several of the smaller children darted happily in and out of the tall waves of grain. "I think that Dr. McKay simply does not understand children." 

"Well…" Ford seemed to hesitate, but at her curious look, he dove in. "I heard that he didn't have the happiest of childhoods. He's got a sister, but doesn't even know where she is." Ford looked astonished at that last bit. 

Teyla understood his emotions. She could not comprehend how a family bond could fracture so badly, although she had seen it occur over the years, but it always saddened her. 

"Nah, all these kids." Ford swept his arm out. "The doc would be like a walking target with them around." 

"The major would have handled it with ease," she broached. He had a way with children that made them feel that were equal to him. Or perhaps he just enjoyed the simplicity of being like a child himself. She suspected that at times, it was both. 

Ford slowly lowered the stevann from his mouth. He looked like he'd just lost his appetite. "Do you think the major is gonna be okay?" 

"I do not know," she replied honestly. "My hope is that Dr. Beckett's team is wrong in their suspicions." 

"Amen to that," he said with heartfelt convention. 

"No matter what the outcome," Teyla said as she watched Aspon and another village elder approach through the crowd, "we will be there for the major." 

Ford nodded emphatically, stuffing the rest of the food into his mouth quickly as more introductions were made. Aspon had an infectious laugh and he'd been sorry to hear that Major Sheppard hadn't been able to attend. 

Teyla against expressed her apologies, as well as her wishes that on their next visit, that Sheppard would accompany them. 

**PART 80**

The worst part wasn't the contrast dye, which, as Beckett had warned him, had some undesirable side effects. His mouth had a strange metallic taste that reminded him of nails, or maybe screws. Heck, maybe both tasted the same. It was something stupid to think about, better than the reason he was being scanned to death. The headache was mild, but with his luck, would probably escalate and hang on for hours, as they'd decided to scan not only his head, but head to toe as well. 

No, what was the worst were the voices. He could sporadically hear Beckett, Dr. Pearson, the radiologist, and some other doctor talking about this and that. Luckily he didn't see Biro. He didn't want to see a pathologist discussing his head because she liked to cut them open! Even Branford was lurking about, studying scans while Sheppard lay stuck there on his back, waiting to be released from purgatory. Branford tended to whisper, as though he felt if he talked any louder, he thought Sheppard might actually shoot the messenger. At least Beckett would come over every so often and try to offer him a modicum of comfort as the scans proceeded. 

Being immobilized had its advantages. He was starting to drift off. He could deal with being unconscious. 

"Wait, there." A hesitant voice echoed from where the physicians were out of his view. 

"Where?" 

"There. See." 

"Is that – it is, isn't it?" 

"Pretty sure." 

Then, nearly a whisper, as if to hide the truth. "No, definitely. I see it." 

_Shit_. Sheppard shut his eyes tight as his world began to spiral out of control. _Shit shit shit._

**PART 81**

McKay hated doctor's offices. It didn't matter where they were: Earth or the Pegasus Galaxy. Visitors were always shunted off to the side, made to wait, drink vile tasting coffee, beat a vending machine to death to get that last Snickers bar out of it, and sit in uncomfortable orange plastic chairs. 

At least the chairs on Atlantis weren't orange, and the ones that sporadically dotted what passed for a waiting area were moderately comfortable. 

He hadn't been able to concentrate on anything in the lab, so he'd given up and returned to the infirmary, only to find that he wasn't the only person worrying that much about Sheppard. 

"You're wearing down the carpet," sniped Zelenka. 

"There is no carpet," pointed out McKay. In fact, when he thought about it, the Ancients had no carpets anywhere. It was weird. 

"Then please just sit." Zelenka went back to typing on his laptop. 

"I, oh…" McKay sat down, hard, on the chair next to Zelenka. Not the wisest thing to do as the chairs weren't soft, but… "What are you doing? I thought your mission report was done?" 

"Bound and published." Zelenka flashed him a quick smile. 

McKay looked down at the small rectangular screen. "A _game_? You're playing a game? At a time like this?" 

Zelenka stopped typing and focused a tired stare on McKay. "Better that I worry myself into a mess like you? Besides, I am trying to beat the Major's score. He is at level 26." 

"Sheppard could be—" McKay couldn't bring himself to say the word. Would uttering it make it true? Was his mind melting down that he couldn't rationally sit back and just wait? 

"Dying?" Zelenka closed the laptop screen down with a soft click. "It is difficult." 

"I read your report," said McKay. "And I mean every word." 

"I am impressed." Zelenka smiled again. Rodney knew he had a bad habit of sometimes skimming parts of reports he felt were not relevant to the matter at hand. Zelenka looked over at the closed door, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. 

"I don't know how you did it." McKay stared at the floor, wishing there were a pattern on it, something he could aimlessly focus on. "I thought that half hour on the jumper was bad…" 

"It was bad, for you." Zelenka arched an eyebrow meaningfully. "Yes, you kept calling me Zalonka." 

"I have trouble with names sometimes, okay?" grumbled McKay. 

"Could be worse," admitted Zelenka. "I did not know you as well then but I was very busy working, trying to save your sorry Canadian ass." 

McKay's eyes widened at such a bold admission but then he saw Zelenka grin again. Maybe that's how Zelenka had made it through the ordeal; he just kept a positive outlook. How he could do that, McKay couldn't fathom. "On planet, it was very similar. I had very little time in which I was not working, trying to figure out the DHD…." 

"That was a waste of time." McKay couldn't help but think back to Sheppard walking into the field not once, but three times because he thought he'd had it fixed. When he'd read Sheppard's mission report - which was really Zelenka's report with annotated remarks - he'd been startled to learn that the major had intentionally walked into the field to alleviate the tormenting itch. 

"Atlantis to Rodney," came Zelenka's sharp voice. 

"Oh, sorry." McKay leaned back in the chair, then against the wall. He just wanted to blend into the walls, particularly because he wanted to know what was transpiring on the other side. He hadn't liked it that other medical staff had started to arrive at Beckett's request. Second opinions? Third? The waiting was driving him nuts. 

"The waiting's the worst," said McKay aloud. 

"I do not know. Both sides are bad, the dying and the waiting," said Zelenka quietly. 

How could he be so stupid? McKay let his head fall back and it hit the wall. He rubbed gingerly at the sore spot. "I'm sorry, Radek. You were--" 

"Dying, but not dying." The Czech almost laughed. "I thought for certain that I had the parasite... When I found out that I did not, I could have died laughing." 

"Well, fortunately, you didn't." McKay said weakly. 

"I told the major of my discovery, but at that point he was very sick," continued Zelenka darkly. "As it was, he did try to make me leave him behind, return with help, but he was in no condition to make me do that." 

"Good thing you didn't." McKay couldn't forget how close Sheppard had been to death when he'd been brought through the gate. He couldn't believe that Zelenka had practically dragged the major all the way from the compound. "Um, how is your back?" 

"Not so sore now. Thank you for asking," replied Zelenka. He seemed genuinely appreciative of the question. "I believe that the major can accept dying, as long as it is with purpose." 

McKay nodded. He'd basically panicked in the jumper but Sheppard had been the glue that held them all together, who'd been more concerned about the de-molecularized Stackhouse and Markham than his own skin when they'd been lodged in the Stargate. 

"I think it was just the impending manner of our … demise, that disturbed him the most," admitted Zelenka. 

"Parasites taking over your brain." McKay made a face of disgust. It was much worse than having a nanovirus-induced aneurysm burst. He looked at his watch and, agitated at what he saw, stood up. "Hello? Come on, guys. It's been hours. I know it doesn't take that long to scan a head!" 

"Rodney, sit down," ordered Zelenka. McKay looked down at the sharpness of the man's tone. The Czech looked incredibly introspective. Dammit. Was he going to lose it? McKay realized he'd better hold together, for Radek's sake. Yes, that sounded good to him. 

"When I was twenty, in university." Zelenka held up a finger, forestalling what he knew would be Rodney's 'is this relevant?' query. McKay settled back instead. "I had friend in university. Jiri. Brilliant student. I think he could have been next Stephen Hawking." 

McKay stared at the door. He hoped this wasn't going to be some schmaltzy Hallmark card type story. 

"There was a lab fire. Jiri was totally engulfed." 

"I'm sorry," said McKay. 

"He did not die, not immediately," explained Zelenka. "It took nearly two days for him to die in hospital. He was hideously burned. His parents refused to see him. They said that that could not be their son." Zelenka sighed wistfully. "I sat with him for those days. He was given drugs to ease his pain, but before he passed, I realized that he knew I'd been there with him." 

McKay felt weak and cold inside. God, how awful. He'd seen Zelenka's records, having helped approved all the scientists on the mission, but had never known about that incident. "On the planet, with Sheppard…" he said under his breath. 

"Yes, was strikingly similar," agreed Zelenka. "There were some times when I thought that I could not continue, especially when the major was in such misery, but then I knew I could not quit, for his sake, and that if there was anything I could do to ease his suffering, that I should help." 

McKay's memories drifted back to the heated debate he'd had with Beckett in Elizabeth's office. "The morphine?" he pondered, his voice almost a whisper. 

"Only if the major wished it." Zelenka paused, perhaps lost in a memory. "I would not have forced it on him, no, but I was grateful that Dr. Beckett sent it along, in the event of the worst." 

But now the worst might be happening just behind a door several feet away. 

"I don't know if I could have been that strong," McKay said very quietly. 

"You may be very self-absorbed at times, Rodney," Zelenka said with a sad smile as McKay cast a sideways glance at him. "But you are his friend." 

"But still--" 

"Do not sell yourself short," Zelenka cut him off quickly. "If you need someone to do that, Kavanagh is more than happy to fill those shoes." 

"Gah," muttered McKay in aversion. Thankfully that jerk's advice had not been needed during this particular crisis. The man was very good at his chosen field, but his people skills were minus zero. McKay leaned forward, staring morosely at his feet. Boots. The cast, covered with signatures, had been removed, but he could not forget Sheppard's crude cartoon, and what it now meant to him. 

"If I'd just gone on the mission," he sighed. 

"Then the major would be dead, as would you." Zelenka didn't take offense at McKay's shocked expression. Instead, he gestured at his eyes. 

"The… the pink-eye," realized McKay as thought someone had struck him in the head with a hammer. "If you hadn't had the conjunctivitis…" 

"I would not have brought along the drops," finished the Czech. "You see, you need to be more social. Catch pink-eye like rest of us." 

McKay laughed, briefly. "And have gooey, pustuler, grossly red eyes because of your lack of hygeine? No, thank you." 

"Such a simple twist of fate," said Zelenka. "Was it not? 

"All because of a pen," mused McKay. "If I hadn't broken my leg, I would have gone on the mission." 

The door not far away suddenly opened. Nurse Hennings appeared, looking tired. She brushed aside a stray strand of hair that swept across her forehead. "They're done with Major Sheppard. You can see him now, but just for a few minutes. He's got some minor side effects from the contrast dye. Understand?" 

McKay realized he didn't want to ask the nurse what the verdict was, even though the question was ready to launch off his tongue, but he couldn't force himself to say it aloud. Apparently, Radek couldn't get up the gumption to ask either, so they both just nodded obediently and went through the doorway. Sheppard was lying on a bed at the far end of a row of beds. Beckett was standing beside him. The two men were talking, but Beckett seemed to be doing the lion's share. Rodney strained to hear the conversation. As he approached, his feet turned to lead as some of the words filtered down to him. 

"I'm sorry, laddie. Truly I am." With that, Beckett patted Sheppard in sympathy on the shoulder. The major snagged the doctor on his sleeve, asking something that McKay couldn't catch. "I'll get Elizabeth to agree to that," Beckett nodded, and he left. Sheppard draped an arm across his face. 

McKay rushed up to the bed, almost tripping over his own feet. Sheppard looked like he was convulsing, or worse, crying. McKay panicked and pulled Sheppard's arm away from his face. Tears were welling in the hazel eyes and Sheppard was… laughing? 

"Beckett!" shouted McKay. "Oh god, he's hysterical." 

"I'm fine," choked back Sheppard. 

McKay wasn't sure he heard it right. "You're what?" Suddenly he was pushed aside and that dark-haired doctor he'd seen arrive earlier was standing next to the bed. The man scribbled something on a small card, and with a little effort, stuck it in Sheppard's hand. "Don't even think of trying to go off-world to avoid this," the man warned. "I can ground you as easily as Carson can. At least I think I can." 

Sheppard nodded, not even bothering to look at the card. The doctor left as quickly as he came. 

McKay felt like he was trapped in some bad movie. Zelenka grabbed the card as Sheppard wasn't paying attention to it, his brow raising as he read it. McKay couldn't take the suspense any longer and he ripped the item from Zelenka's hand. 

"DDS? Columbus?" he muttered to himself. "You've got a dental appointment in Ohio on Friday?" 

Sheppard managed to stop laughing. "God, that's a bit far. I thought he had an office here." 

"What the hell is going on?" demanded McKay. 

"I'm fine." Sheppard let his arm fall down to his side as he caught his breath. "No parasites, no cysts, no eggs, nada. My brain's fine." 

"Fine?" 

"Yes, empty, devoid of alien infestation of any kind, _nothing up there_," Sheppard said with a laugh as he rapped at his head, imitating McKay's comment of just hours ago. "It was all a damned false alarm." 

Zelenka stood by the bed and reached out, placing a reassuring grip on the major's arm. "I am very glad to hear that, major." 

"Makes two of us, doc," Sheppard grinned. "Believe me, that makes two of us." 

McKay felt like he could melt into a puddle from relief. "But… Beckett? What was he talking about, and what's _this_?" He waved the white card like a flag. 

Sheppard lifted his head, studied the card and let his head fall back to the pillow, laughing. "They scan and x-ray the hell out of me, and after all that, they found a cavity." 

"A cavity?" McKay wondered if there were any PowerBars around. When had he last eaten? He felt ready to pass out. 

Sheppard let out a weary sigh. "I still say it's just a small pit." 

McKay didn't care if it was a full root canal job. He pulled over a nearby stool and sat down, then grabbed one of Sheppard's hands in his own hand and squeezed. 

"Got a bitch of a headache from that dye." Sheppard shut his eyes. 

"But at least your head won't blow up and mess the walls," replied McKay, not caring how stupid he sounded. 

"Damned straight it won't," agreed Sheppard. 

McKay felt a reassuring squeeze against his hand and he closed his eyes, leaning against the bed. He held his grip firm, not wanting to let go, but he knew that now, Sheppard was going to be fine. 

**PART 82**

Two days passed before Sheppard truly felt that it was all over. It had been a few more hours before the headache from the dye had dissipated into nothing more than a bad memory, but he'd used that time to unwind from the built-up stress, and to explain to McKay what Beckett's apology had been all about. 

The Scotsman hadn't realized that his and his fellow doctors' discussion could be overheard, at least in part, by Sheppard, so by the time Beckett came over to deliver the good news, Sheppard had been waiting for his life to flash before his eyes after wrongly putting two and two together from all the vague snatches of dialogue he'd heard. Beckett had apologized profusely when he realized what had happened, but Sheppard had been so relieved to hear his brain wasn't going to home to millions of parasite cysts that he didn't care. 

McKay had intimately understood that kind of insane relief. When he'd found out that his own head wouldn't implode from the alien nanovirus, he hadn't cared about much else either except his own ongoing existence. 

Sheppard took advantage of Aspon's invitation to return to Bennar so his team went back through the gate the next day. Teyla had already done the bulk of the diplomatic chit-chat, so there wasn't really much to do except sit back and enjoy himself. 

The latva bread was every bit as good as Teyla had described it. They'd returned to base with several big bushels of the bread, which lasted perhaps two hours before it was distributed to and devoured by all the expedition members. 

Sheppard waved to Grodin as he headed toward the briefing room. Elizabeth had called an informal meeting at nine o'clock at night, which in itself was unusual but Grodin had said it wasn't an emergency, but it was mandatory to attend. Sheppard hoped it had something to do with his earlier request to Beckett while still lying on the gurney. 

Beckett was already settled in, seated next to Elizabeth, when Sheppard entered the room. The physician smiled, not the nervous kind of 'I'm sorry but the diagnosis is fill-in-your-worst-nightmare' kind of smile,' but a happy one. Thank god. Within minutes the rest of his team, as well as Zelenka, all came in and sat down. 

McKay, clad in a pale blue striped shirt and tan dockers – everybody had come in casual attire as they were off-duty – looked around with a bored glance. "I hope this is important. I was right in the middle of an experiment." 

"Still trying to make coffee out of thin air?" quipped Sheppard. 

Zelenka let out a short laugh, but that left McKay looking even more annoyed than ever. 

Sheppard slouched back lazily in his chair as Elizabeth stood up. "We're here to wrap up the events of PX8 3H6, as well as one other matter." 

"Shouldn't Branford or Waller be here then?" asked McKay. 

"They were busy," said Elizabeth simply. 

"Probably too busy with that damned rabbit thing," Sheppard said under his breath. 

Beckett, seated to Sheppard's right, leaned over and whispered. "It might have something to do with you threatening to shoot Branford." 

"Would I do that?" Sheppard replied innocently. 

"Of course not, lad," came back Beckett in an almost conspiratorial whisper. "But he doesn't know that." 

"Gentlemen." Elizabeth was suddenly looking down at them both as though they were errant schoolboys. "Do you have something to add?" 

"Uh no, no," Sheppard replied with a ingenuous smile. Beckett immediately followed up with a shake of his head. Sheppard could tell from the look on Elizabeth's face that she knew something was up, but decided not to press the issue. Instead, she opened up the black pad holder on the table in front of her, pulling out a solitary piece of paper. "Major?" She looked questioningly at him. 

"Oh no, I'd rather you do the honors," he replied when he realized precisely what the item was. 

Elizabeth nodded, then read aloud the typed words on the paper. They were formal, short and to the point – the way a commendation was written up in the military. Zelenka just sat there, looking a bit embarrassed as Elizabeth concluded the tiny speech. Sheppard knew it was pretty much impossible to convey in a commendation how much he truly appreciated what Zelenka had done for him. He'd already thanked the Czech, but he wanted something in the man's record, so his unselfish acts would not be forgotten. 

Ford flashed a bright smile and gave the poor man a hearty slap on the back, and even McKay had the good graces to congratulate his fellow scientist. 

"Thank you," said Zelenka simply, meeting Sheppard's eyes. The major merely smiled and nodded. 

Zelenka managed to compose himself as Elizabeth signed off on the paper and handed it to him. 

"It's not 'official' official until Stargate Command signs off on it, of course," Elizabeth said with a hint of regret. "But as far as we're concerned, it's chiseled in stone." 

Zelenka nodded gratefully, but then frowned slightly. "Do I get a raise?" 

"What?" McKay nearly shouted. "And where are you going to spend this money?" 

"We may one day return to Earth," Zelenka replied, still happily studying the paper now in his hands. "If it is retroactive and the interest is compounded…" He stopped in his musings as his eyes traveled across to the black pad holder. "Wait. Oh, that's my pen." 

"Your pen?" chorused several voices at once. 

Sheppard stared in surprise at the blue pen with the silver clip, the one that had been in Beckett's possession after the accident until the good doctor got tired of McKay hounding him for DNA tests so he'd foisted it on Elizabeth with the hopes of never seeing it again. 

McKay reached across the table and brusquely snatched the pen away before anyone could stop him. 

"I think we'll need a drink after this," Sheppard heard Beckett moan beside him. 

"I broke my _leg_ tripping on this damned pen," began McKay furiously, waving the item in front of a shocked Zelenka. "I--" Abruptly, McKay stopped ranting. Sheppard watched in confusion and curiosity as McKay stared oddly at the pen, then at Sheppard and back to Zelenka. He carefully placed the pen back down on the table's hard surface. "Well, next time, be more careful," he said, without a single hint of anger, to Zelenka. 

The Czech seemed as confused as the rest of the small audience. "I will." 

Sheppard resisted the urge to put his hand to his forehead to feel for a sudden fever, but he was pretty sure he'd know if he was hallucinating. At least he sure hoped so. 

McKay turned the pen around very slowly, almost reverently, on the table. "But I think I'll keep it." 

Zelenka seemed to consider the odd request for a moment. "All right." 

McKay went to put the pen in his shirt pocket, but then realized the ballpoint was still out. He went to click down on the top, but then Zelenka spoke up. "No, not that way." He held his hand up, indicating a clockwise motion. 

"Ah yes," said McKay. "A twist." 

Zelenka arched an eyebrow. "Yes, just a simple twist," he said strangely. 

Sheppard watched as the two scientists fell silent, both with the oddest of contemplative smiles on their faces. 

"Just wait a second," spoke up Sheppard, breaking the silence. He knew he was confused as hell, and judging from everybody else's faces around here, the feeling was mutual. "McKay, what happened to 'I'm going to have the moron who dropped this pen drawn and quartered?'" 

"I'm hardly one to hold grudges, major." McKay acted as though the mere suggestion was insane. 

"Forgive me, Rodney, but you spent every single day until that cast came off, bitchin' and moaning incessantly about that pen," interjected Beckett firmly. 

"Oh puh-lease, Carson," began McKay haughtily. "I hardly--" 

"Gentlemen," interrupted Elizabeth. "Let's just put that in the past, shall we?" 

Everybody nodded and murmured agreement, but Sheppard was sure as heck going to find out why McKay was suddenly being so amenable. It just wasn't … natural. 

"We'll now conclude the final matter at hand," continued Elizabeth, turning to Beckett. "Carson, would you do the honors?" 

"Finally," grumbled the doctor good-naturedly. 

Sheppard received a none-too-subtle jab in his ankle to move, so he slid his chair aside and Carson brought out a cardboard box from beneath the table. He settled it on the table, then removed seven tiny beakers and set them out. 

"Are those from your lab?" asked McKay suspiciously. 

"Yes, and they're perfectly sterile and the proper size," replied Beckett. 

"For what?" pressed McKay, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. 

Beckett brought out a large, dark green bottle from inside the box. Sheppard broke into a broad grin. Yes, Beckett came through! Within seconds, Beckett had poured out the remains of that bottle into the tiny beakers. It wasn't as though anybody had packed shot glasses for the expedition, and heck, a glass was a glass. 

"I thought you threw out that bottle?" McKay eyed the glass stuck in front of him, then looked at Elizabeth. 

"It was very tempting to do just that, considering the first results of certain people imbibing it," replied Elizabeth with a knowing smile, "but the bottle will be returned to the Athosians, and well, we do deserve to celebrate making it this far." 

"And fortunately there's not enough for either the major or Dr. McKay to get hungover again," added Beckett dryly. 

"Hey, how were we to know this Athosian stuff had such a kick?" defended Sheppard, realizing that excuse hadn't worked the first time either. He remembered that the drink's impact had hit him rather suddenly and after that, just one more tiny glass didn't seem like it could do any harm. Of course, when he woken up the next morning with a gang of little gremlins smashing hammers into both temples in a discordant tempo - and Rodney hadn't looked much better at the briefing - he'd realized his error far too late. 

"Carson says one glass won't do any damage," continued Elizabeth smoothly as she sat down. "Would you care to do the honors, major?" 

"Me?" Sheppard asked, but he stood nevertheless, his mind going over just what he should toast to. To surviving yet another day? To the memories of those they'd lost? There were lots of things that deserved a good stiff drink, but as he looked around the table at the expectant faces, he realized that throughout the ups and downs, there'd been one constant that had grown and strengthened from the day they'd set foot in Atlantis. 

Sheppard raised his beaker, and said simply. "To friends." 

Everybody repeated the heartfelt sentiment, and drank down the liquor. 

Sheppard was barely able to hiss out "good stuff" after the liquor seared his throat. Everybody looked similarly affected - except Zelenka. 

The Czech coughed briefly, and remarked with a happy smile. "It has aged well." 

**CODA**

**PART 83**

It was bizarre, just standing in front of the Stargate, not fully geared and ready to step through to another world where they could meet new people and maybe get shot at – again. The least he should do is have something in his hands, and not have them shoved in his pants pockets like he was waiting for a bus. 

It was a simple ceremony, nothing more. To a few people, it held hope far beyond anything they'd dreamed of when stepping through to the Pegasus Galaxy. To others, like Sheppard, it meant letting go of certain memories. 

Elizabeth stood to his one side, while the rest of his team, and even Beckett and Zelenka, stood off to the other side. 

Months had passed since that day he'd nearly died from the parasites he'd contracted on PX8 3H6. Now that gate address had been dialed up again. 

"How do we know we're not making things worse?" muttered McKay, watching as Dr. Branford entered the gateroom. 

"Rodney, ye're the expert on blackholes and quarks," replied Beckett. "Leave the biological tinkering to folks who know what they're doing." 

"And that's probably what the Ancients probably said, too." 

"Ach," grumbled Beckett. 

An old argument, one that had been raised time and again since Branford had brought back the bunnies from Hell. The scientists had gotten a good idea of what the Ancients had been attempting to do, and possibly where they went wrong. They'd done some tinkering of their own – and hopefully developed a means to combat the parasite. If it worked, it might eradicate the parasite from the planet, leaving it safe for humans to visit. Sheppard had been averse to the idea of anybody stepping foot on the planet again, until Branford pointed out that Sheppard had been the lucky one. Who knows how many countless travelers might have stepped through that gate during the centuries, only to die horribly, their bones scattered to dust as time passed on? 

"Shouldn't Marlin Perkins be here or something?" suggested Sheppard. 

"More like Steve Irwin," came back McKay sharply. 

Ford laughed softly behind the Canadian. 

Everybody watched as the event horizon solidified. Dr. Branford, wearing heavy duty gloves, opened up a biohazard containment box and extracted the 'rabbit.' He walked up to the gate, knelt down, and gently tossed the animal through. With a dramatic flourish, he peeled off his gloves, stuffed them back into the box and sealed it shut. 

The gate turned off. 

It was gone, the last vestige of the parasite. His back and arm still bore scars, so faint he had to really look to find them, from his savage attack to stop the itching but that was all that remained. The nightmares were long gone, replaced by worries and shadowy dreams with vampire-like aliens that were a more present danger. 

Sheppard looked over at Elizabeth, who studied him briefly and smiled, aware of what the ceremony meant to him. Months ago, in a darker time, at least for him, he'd asked her if returning to that planet was worth it. If this was their only legacy to the Pegasus Galaxy, then maybe it was. He smiled back and she nodded briefly in acknowledgement. 

"You know," he drawled, turning to McKay "Gonna miss the little fella." 

"What?" McKay groused. "You haven't stepped anywhere near that lab since those animals arrived. You hated that rabbit-thing with a passion." 

"Nah, that was when he was full of cysts," explained Sheppard. "Now he's clear of them." 

"So?" pushed McKay. 

"Bet he would have tasted good roasted." 

Sheppard's abrupt laughter collided with that of the others, while McKay hacked out a noise of utter disgust and he stalked off. 

Some things didn't change. The Wraith were still coming, they might all end up dead, but in the end, it was still fun to mess with Rodney's head. 

**THE END**

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Author's note: I hope you enjoyed reading this story! I had fun writing it and now that it's finished, I plan to catch up on reading everybody else's fiction. 

Huge thanks to for betaing my story and helping with all the medical points. J 

Czech translations done at http/www.workdbook.cz/", so if I goofed anything... 

Oh, and the title…" I've Got You Under My Skin" … it's from an old Frank Sinatra song. It just stuck in my mind, and I just liked the play on words with critters under the skin ;) 

Feedback gratefully appreciated. Thanks! 


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